Naagat-Yara
by Brouwer
Summary: Strange new creatures are starting to creep around Mossflower Wood, and gentlebeasts are going missing without a trace. Deyna may have only just started his new life at Redwall, but a vision from Martin the Warrior will send him on a quest that stretches off any known map in order to save his newfound home. The Taggerung returns in… "NAAGAT-YARA."
1. Prologue

"For ages upon ages and miles upon miles, word has spread fah an' wide of an abbey in Mossflowah Wood: a great sandstone fo'tress of the fah North, named for the scahlett hue o'the walls that have housed many heroes. Countless vermin and bah-barians have piled their bodies against this abbey… but none have evvah prevailed—"

"Iz the walls red cuzza the vermin blood that's spilt on 'em?"

"Shaddap, Derrink!"

Several of the audience-members groaned, huddling closer to the bonfire on the whispering shoreline with their eyes and hearts both aglow with excitement. They were great sea otters, as rough-and-tumble as any maritime dog to set a paw in the ocean. Their ears glittered with jeweled awls and golden earrings; cured sharkskin-leather hats with wide curved brims perched on many a head; and some of their massive rudders bore deep scars and earthy tattoos that were displayed with equal pride. Several of the listeners grabbed scruffy little Derrick and clamped his mouth shut, then waved at the speaker who sat authoritatively on a great boulder. The great sea-worn rock jutted out from amongst the ocean waves near waist-depth, and their storyteller had selected this particular seat so that his voice would carry to the massive throng that crowded all over the beach and the mountainside. He had chosen well; every word of his tale had been rebounding off the waves and rising up to even the furthest members of the audience, who were now beckoning eagerly for him to continue. "Arroight, Tikky, gow on, then!"

"Tell us about Pinkwall Abbey!"

"Tain't Pinkwall, stupid, didn'ya hear 'em? It's Bloodwall!"

"Oy don't care what it's called, so stow yeh tongues a'fore Oy cut 'em out," the largest of the otters roared, thundering with a voice so deep that the very sand beneath their seats seemed to tremble. All of his subjects quelled beneath his gaze and became deadly silent. Their leader was a massive creature, his every hair silver-white with immense age… but his eyes burned still with as much vitality as those of his youngest subjects. "Now," he growled to the storyteller who sat before them, illuminated by the fire. "Tell me, Tikky… tell me why my niece an' nephew ain't comin' home no more."


	2. Chapter 1

Birds sang in delight over the canopy of Mossflower Wood, heralding in the warm afternoon with the appreciation of creatures that had not quite yet lost sight of the mild winter that was falling further and further behind them. Redwall Abbey was preparing as grand a feast as legend had ever lauded it for: Friar Bobb and nearly every one of his assistant cooks were sweating day and night beside their blazing ovens, while other beasts were out picking flowers in the woods until their paws were sore. Great wreathes of white rosebuds and queen's lace and waterlilies and the last of the Spring snowdrops were brought through the gates by the armful, where they were to be woven painstakingly together in Cavern Hole alongside great creamy ribbons of silk that the nimblest of claws were sewing into bows. All of the floors were swept clean of dust, then scraped with wet blocks of lyme for good measure.

The stern little Sister Alkanet, while technically overseeing the ribbon-stitching, was still ordering otherbeasts about as they passed by with other projects. Some of the friendlier abbey inhabitants like the mellow mole Wummple were accepting her criticisms without much complaint… but before long Trey was following Nimbalo's bad example and the two mice were teaching the dibbuns an uproarious song, which they belted to overpower the sister whenever she tried to open her mouth. By the fourth time, when the youngsters went to drown out the nurse's words to another abbeybeast, a few of the wiser creatures in Cavern Hole could tell by the infirmary mouse's stiff quivering whiskers that she would take no more.

"You must be gentle with the silk;

We need to save it all

And don't you ruffians spill the milk

On our fresh-scrubbed red wall!

The flowers must be woven tight

But gently, or they'll break,

I'll show you how to do it right—

Give here, for goodness sake!"

"AN' DON'T LET BOORAB NEARRA CAKE," one of the dibbuns shouted quickly as an extra addition to the latest chorus. The abbey's Master of Music gave the tiny mouse babe a reproachful glare as he sucked on a pawful of chesnut-almond trifle and fled from the kitchens with Friar Bobb hot on his cotton tail. "What's that, young brigand? Keeping me away from cakes? A touch unfair, I should think, wot!"

"Set paw in my kitchens again an' _I'll_ show you unfair, yeh snack-swiping, sneaky hare!" bellowed the portly squirrel cook behind him.

"Un-disciplined, that's what this abbey has become," Sister Alkanet chirped bitterly through gritted teeth as the pair raced by. "Absolutely un-disciplined! No beast ought to be acting so lackadaisical when there's a _wedding_ to be held in just a few hours!"

"Why'm, Sister, that be's ee purfect reason fur daisies," Wummple suggested to her warmly. His dark eyes twinkled with nothing but kindness , and his large belly wobbled beneath his habit as he trundled by and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "But don't ee fret, Miz… thur wedding'll be foine no matter ee flo'rs, or ee dibbun-games, burr aye!"

Sister Alkanet merely sniffed and returned to her duties, hoping to ignore the mole's stunted vocabulary. It was perhaps a mercy that she had not been assigned to help Filorn and Abbess Mhera in the bridal chamber (though it also was likely Mhera's doing, as she had allotted the roles of everybeast), because the two otter ladies had their paws full trying to keep the bride-to-be under control. Whenever Filorn's back was turned to select a needle or spool of white thread, the poor ottermum would always turn back to find the tuffet abandoned, and the bride traipsing across the ceiling in a giddy state of excitement. "Now really, Fwirl," her daughter chided for at least the fifth time that hour alone. "You must try to contain yourself, or your beautiful dress will be covered in cobwebs before the ceremony even starts!"

"I'm sorry, Mhera — er, Mother Abbess," Fwirl chittered as she continued to cling to the rafters and circle the room with a quiver in her limbs. "I just can't contain myself! I've never been to a real wedding before… let alone my own!"

"Well, you won't be able to attend either one if I can't make you a gown that fits," Filorn reminded her. There was naught but mirth and kindness in the ottermum's voice; she had helped to plan out this day for Fwirl with almost as much eagerness as the bride herself, and she understood the squirrelmaid's nerves all too well. Memories of her own wedding day flashed into her mind… for a moment, Mhera thought she caught the glimpse of wetness pass across her mother's eyes. Then Fwirl dropped back down onto the hassock seat as cleanly as an acrobat, and Filorn caught hold of her train to finish sewing before the restless bride could jump away again. "Notice, I'm not sewing along the entire length of the seam," she explained to the two younger females as she worked. "I'm merely tying a tiny knot of thread inside the fabric every few lengths to hold it up; that way, the dress can be un-hemmed or re-hemmed many, many times without damaging the silk."

Mhera brushed a dust smudge off the side of the gown and felt the smooth material glide through her paw like water. "How many times has it been worn, Mama?"

"Oh, a fair few," Filorn murmured as she worked… but her pace grew slower as the memories came closer. "Your great-grandmother wore it first… it was a gift from her sweetheart, Borrakul, who traveled miles and miles to the Northeast to buy the silk for it. Then my mother wore it, of course, as did I when I finally married your father…" The otter mum's eyes glazed over, her whiskers twitching with a mixture of grief and smiles. "Such a lovely day," she whispered… then with two blinks, she was back to her old self: sewing away at the train of the gown with a practiced ease. "And it wasn't just we otters that started wearing it, you know," she added. "If anything, I'd almost say the dress now belongs to the entire abbey more than me… I think Mrs. Furrel wore it last."

"I should have been frightened to have a mole try it on," Mhera giggled. "You must have had to shorten it to almost half its length to keep her foot-claws from snagging it!"

"Oh, a _third_ of its length, at least," Filorn laughed. "She was the tiniest bride I'd ever seen… there!" She released the gown and leapt back away from Fwirl, allowing the bride to turn and behold herself in the mirror on the wall. The squirrel-maid gasped and twirled nimbly upon the poufe to admire her groomed reflection. Her large chestnut eyes grew, if possible, even wider as she stroked the silk. "I've never seen anything so beautiful," she whispered. Her cheeks flushed red ever so slightly, and she gave the otters a shy-but-grateful smile. "I've never really had any family traditions before… leastways, not any that I could remember."

Abbess Mhera beamed warmly at her. "Well, Redwall is your family now… especially today, and forever afterwards."

A sudden knock made the fur on all three of their necks stand on end. Mhera and Filorn stood immediately in front of Fwirl's tuffet, but the bride-to-be leapt off the seat and darted behind the changing-screen in a flash, giggling with excitement; she had just been introduced to the abbey tradition of keeping the groom from seeing her dress before the wedding, but for her it had translated more as an exciting game of hide-and-seek than a threat of bad luck. "Who is it?" Mhera called in the most authoritative tone she could muster.

"A humble messenger," said a deep, warm voice. Both otters relaxed and grew large smiles, and Mhera clasped her paws behind her back to feign an even more pompous Abbess. "And what message do you bring to us, nameless underling?"

"Why, one that can only be told in person, most magnificent lady of Redwall."

Mhera bit her lip in consideration, but her mother giggled and unlatched the door like a naughty dibbun before she could say no. Deyna the Taggerung, Warrior of Redwall, swooped into the room and swept his mother and sister up into each of his arms, snuffling his nose all over their faces to offer whiskery kisses that tickled tremendously. Filorn and Mhera squealed uproariously. "Liar, liar! That's not a message!"

"Put us down, you great brute! Wedding days are supposed to be dignified!"

"Well, I haven't learned much about dignity yet," Deyna teased as he held the squirming females a few inches off the floor. "I'm not used to living in fancy abbeys with pretty ladies."

"Well, I never would have guessed it from looking at you," Fwirl called to him. She was peeking over the changing-screen with a bright smile, and she certainly had a reason to. The strapping riverdog had forgone his usual plain kilt in exchange for a clean, pressed white tunic: the kind that all abbeybeasts traditionally wore to weddings. He looked particularly dashing in it, and only those who knew his story would ever have guessed that he was once raised by vermin in the woodlands, fighting and hunting all his life as a tattooed vagabond. Now his scars were gone, his fur was free of markings, and he was reunited with his family: the three abbey otters looked nearly identical in their matching set of cream-colored smocks.

"Duck down, Fwirl!" Mhera exclaimed, half-laughing and half-grave with a claw pointing at the open door. "What if Broggle were to walk by?"

"Oh, you needn't worry about the groom," Deyna assured his sister with a wink. "He's already pacing by the pond, and he looks right smart if I do say so myself."

"Is that your message?" Filorn chuckled, but Fwirl chirped over her: "Does he look nervous?"

"No more than you, Fwirl; you're both shaking like yellow summer leaves, and just as pretty." Deyna turned to his mother. "And yes, my message was to tell you ladies that we're ready for you down there. I'm rather excited myself; I've never seen a proper wedding before."

"And you won't unless you put us down," Mhera ordered while trying to keep squeaks and giggles out of her voice to maintain the dignity of her title. "An abbey wedding can't begin without its own Abbess!"

"Well, then, I'd best get you down to the pond on the double!" Deyna barked. He set his mother down with a quick kiss on the cheek, then bounded off down the corridor with Mhera still slung over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. She squealed and pounded her fists on his back, though she knew she could no more bruise her strapping brother than she could bruise a tree.

Mossflower Wood seemed almost aware of the special ceremony about to take place in its prized abbey; the woodlands had provided the very best of Spring weather for the afternoon, with golden sunlight in a cloudless sky warming all the land quite merrily, and an occasional cooling breeze would waft through just whenever the heat started to grow uncomfortable.

Within the grounds of Redwall, wicker chairs had been brought out from the Great Hall, Cavern Hole, and even the shaded picnic areas of the orchards — all to be lined up along the shore of the pond. Now abbeybeasts were beginning to emerge from the buildings, their chores finished, to form a massive throng as they vied for the best seats from which to watch the two lovestruck squirrels say their vows.

Once the available seats were claimed (some with minor tussles) and the extra beasts had positioned themselves behind the chairs to stand for the event, the ceremony proceeded splendidly. Boorab, lingering behind Broggle at the end of the aisle as his best mate, practically had to catch the poor groom in a swoon when Fwirl appeared in the abbey doorway, a glittering vision in white silk and ribbons. In front of her, Churrkin the molemaid (one of the abbey's best-behaved dibbuns) skipped along in a daisy-cream smock and scattered flower petals from a pannier of woven beech branches.

Fwirl, normally quite graceful, seemed to make special effort with every step she took — though whether it was because she was afraid of tripping or afraid of jumping about and racing down to Broggle too quickly, it was difficult to tell. The bushy tails of both lovebirds were twitching non-stop with eager excitement. When they finally stood face-to-face at the end of the aisle, it was obvious as Mhera spoke to the congregation that the memories of the giddy couple would retain none of her words; the bride and groom couldn't help but merely stare into one another's eyes and clutch their paws together until their knuckles were near white. And when they repeated their vows, Broggle was quivering so tremendously that he nearly went back to stammering again, as he had for years in his younger days before Boorab had 'cured' him.

But in the end, of course, their promises were stated and they were pronounced husband and wife: and when Broggle drew Fwirl in for a kiss, all the abbeybeasts (those that had been lucky enough to claim seats for themselves, at least) flew onto their footpaws. They all cheered… though a few of the dibbuns (and Nimbalo) covered their eyes and groaned. Much of the whistling and whooping continued until Mhera finally held up her paws for silence, smiling broadly at the bright faces looking up at her. "And now," she announced. "To honor our good friends, Fwirl and Broggle, and to celebrate their union…" Behind her, Boorab the hair seemed to be dancing impatiently on the spot — a few dibbuns, too. "Let us gather together, and celebrate the good times that have been had and will be had…"

"An' let's eat da feast!" a hungry mousebabe barked before any of his caretakers could clamp a paw over his mouth.

Mhera chuckled and nodded, throwing her paws up in gesture for all to rise and head for the Great Hall. "To the feast!" she laughed.

"About bally time, to think of all the puddin's and trifles and absa-spiffin-lutely scrumptious morsels sitting unguarded in there," Boorab the Fool muttered as he darted through the crowd and sprang into the lead, pointing towards the abbey building as if leading a charge of the Long Patrol. "To the feast, wot!" he bellowed.

"Wot wot! Wot wot!" the dibbuns all echoed as they pranced after him in passing imitations of his long-legged lope.

"Oy! Don't let that monstrous hare in there first!" several abbeybeasts — including Friar Bobb — cried as they scrambled out of the now-crowded aisle. "He'll clear us out a'fore we've had a crumb!"


	3. Chapter 2

Soon the lawn was all but deserted save for the few guests who didn't mind being a little late into Great Hall. Chief among them — aside from Fwirl and Broggle, who were still staring dumbstruck into each other's eyes by the pond — were Deyna and his family. The three otters were strolling up to the great abbey building arm in arm, occasionally passing a teasing remark and a gentle elbow into one another's ribs. Deyna, especially, couldn't help mentioning how delighted his sister had seemed to be with the day's affairs.

"Well of course I'm happy, little brother," Mhera exclaimed with a bark of laughter at his nudging. "Our good friends have just gotten married.

"And they're going to be late to their own feast," she called over her shoulder. The abbess's pointed words finally broke through to the pair of squirrels, and they turned to skip paw-in-paw towards the festivities.

"Oh, I'm not doubting that you enjoyed yourself, _mother_ _abbess_ ," Deyna chuckled. "In fact, I'm certain that we can't have our next wedding soon enough for your liking." He turned to his mother and shot her a mischievous wink. "Do you know any strapping young otter lads roundabouts in Mossflower that my sister might fancy? Perhaps I'll have to go on a quest and drag a few home with me."

Mhera laid an abrupt smack on his shoulder with her jaw open in shock, not quite sure if the excited beating of her heart came from disapproval or from excitement at the idea. Her cheeks were certainly flushing in surprise; she truthfully had dreamt more and more about weddings during the preparations for Fwirl's ceremony, though she was slightly embarrassed to realize that anyone else had thought of the same thing. "Shame on you, Deyna! You're the one who ought to be on guard against admirers — strapping otter lads indeed. What about _ladies_? Blekker looked particularly lovely this afternoon, did she not? I think she may have been batting her eyelashes at you." She was satisfied to see a flash of crimson in her brother's face.

"I wouldn't mind seeing either of you with a few more suitors," Filorn chuckled.

Deyna's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Aye, but I wouldn't even consider anybeast worthy to marry my dear sister, unless they can best me in combat. Then I'll know that I'm leaving her in good paws."

"Best _you_ in combat?" Mhera cried in mock consternation. She threw a dramatic paw across her brow just before they entered the abbey building. "Oh, lackaday! I shall die an old maid before that ever happens!"

"Exactly!"

The otter family laughed uproariously as they crossed the threshold, and the sounds of their mirth were swallowed up by the sound of creatures celebrating within Great Hall. Fwirl and Broggle had been seated near the head of the room beside the abbess's large chair, and Redwall's largest and longest oak tables had been painstakingly arranged into one long, continuous zig-zag pattern across the floor. Each was covered in a clean white cotton tablecloth, as well as silver platters and copper cauldrons filled with steaming delicacies that had been laid out and seemed to go on forever, with budding roses, queen's lace, and early lilies appearing almost to sprout from the dishes in meticulous arrangements. A hundred scents wafted about the room as the inhabitants of Redwall tucked in to the spread.

There were soft, almond-studded wheels of yellow cheese to be piled on slices of barley loaves and oat farls, which the hedgehogs were washing down with tall tankards of October ale. Other beasts preferred the moist white cheese logs with thin slivers of hazelnut scattered throughout their middles, best when spread over fluffy white rolls or flaky crullers and served with dandelion-and-burdock cordial. Onion-and-carrot pasties practically oozed with thick brown gravy, topped with oven-roasted crumbles of cracked black hotroot that would set the eater's mouth ablaze until elderberry or damson wine could be found to quell the burning sensation.

There was poached grouper fresh from the abbey pond, sprinkled with thyme and covered in a delectable lemon cream sauce, and thick steaming mushroom-and-leek stew, which was ladled out of Friar Bobb's latest creation: a round, crispy bowl made entirely of bread. The wily cook had spent weeks perfecting his technique, shaping each sizable curved loaf and then scooping out their steaming white insides, which were then replaced with the soup. He had baked dozens of smaller bread-bowls, which the Redwall otters and moles had both fallen in love with in minutes. Why, if he hadn't made so many, there might have actually been a brawl between the feasters as they scooped up either spicy Shrimp'n Hotroot Soup or Deeper'n-Ever-Turnip'n-Tater'n-Beetroot Pie with the crispy edible bowls.

And the Friar had not let the fluffy centers of the loaves go to waste, either; his assistants had laid all the soft white scraps into porcelain pans, and then covered them with butter and eggs with a sugary glaze to be popped straight back into the oven and then retrieved once they transformed into bubbly soft puddings. These were laid in-between the many savory dishes, along with countless other sweet desserts — to the utter delight of the younger creatures in attendance. Meadowcream trifles were layered with chopped candied chestnuts, almonds, and strawberries that had been preserved in flasks of cordial through the winter; crispy lattice crusts that had been laid painstakingly over blackberry pies were admired and grudgingly cut into; apple turnovers were served with dollops of clotted cream; buttery scones were topped decoratively with swirls of lemon curd; and steaming honeyed tarts were (despite Sister Alkanet's scolding) piled high by the dibbuns with meadowcream and thick damson preserves until the pastries weren't even visible anymore.

Beside the bride and groom, Boorab the hare was shamelessly gobbling every dish in sight, barely pausing except to grab a bottle of dandelion and burdock cordial to wash everything down. Between mouthfuls, the hare spewed compliments and crumbs to his best friend, brushing the scraps off of Broggle's silken vest that his own voracious eating had put there. "Mmmnffumm— I say, there should be more marriages around here, if t'would mean that Redwall would put on abso-spiffin-lutely phenomenal feasts like this one! Mmmnyes, top-quality tuck, if I do say so myself! Don't you agree, Broggle me old tree-bounder? And just think, this spread is entirely for _you!_ Phaw, it almost makes me wish a pretty little haremaid would march through those gates — then I'd get me own blinkin' feast, eh! Not that I'm the husbanding sort; the bachelor life for me, old lad! Couldn't ever bring meself to tie the old apron strings; I'm a solitary beast, wot wot! I say, ol' bean, awful lot of crumbs on your vest there: best use a napkin before Fwirl finds out what a messy eater you are!"

Mhera was covering her mouth to hide a chuckle at the ridiculous hare's antics, when a heavy digging claw tapped gently on her left shoulder. Beside her, Gundil stood tugging his snout and shuffling his feet bashfully. His eyes, however, looked uneasy rather than elated. "Ho urr, pardon'ee Mother Abbess… did'ee see Foremole Brull aroundabouts since th'start o'ee gurt feast? Ho'i been savin' 'er seat an' 'aven't seen 'er."

Mhera blinked in slight surprise; the head of the Redwall moles had never been a particularly solitary creature. Brull was almost always to be found in the company of her good friends, but she was indeed absent from the center of the crowd of moles huddled in Great Hall. Many of them were glancing about at the stretch of the tables, and some were watching Mhera with hints of concern in their dark fuzzy features. The abbess's brow furrowed. "Do you suppose she's been helping Friar Bobb serve the feast? He had a lot to do; perhaps she volunteered to give him an extra hand."

"But 'ee Friar's eatin' oop 'isown vittles dewn thurr," Gundil pointed out, waving to where the fat cook's tall white hat could be seen wobbling near Skipper of Otters.

Mhera scanned the rest of the tables and examined the dark face of every mole, until she was sure that Foremole Brull wasn't merely lost amidst the throng. Giving Gundil a reassuring smile, she rose smoothly to her feet. The creatures beside her glanced upwards and grew silent, and the beasts further away began to notice the decrease in volume and turned to see the cause. Once their voices had all faded, Mhera nodded in gratitude for their attention. "The last thing I want to do is pause or sully such a splendid feast," she beamed at Friar Bobb and his many assistants. "But my good friend Gundil and the moles haven't seen Foremole Brull since the food was served. Does anybeast know where she might be?"

There was a ripple of murmuring through the crowd, with most of the voices less than sure when they had last seen the trusty mole leader. "I haven't set eyes on 'er since this mornin'."

"Didn't you sit next to her at the wedding, Swash?"

"No, that was Durby and his mother."

"I never sat next to 'er."

"Today's been so busy…"

"When was the last time anybeast saw her for _certain_?" Mhera called out over the growing din. The conversations faded and replies trailed off.

Finally the young hedgehog Wegg stood to his feet, biting his lip and fiddling with one of his headspikes, as was his habit when he was thinking very hard. "She joined us this mornin' when we was out picking flowers in the woodlands, I think. Skipper said she'd be able to smell out the last of the snowdrops."

"Aye, I remember that now," the leader of the otters murmured. "And right happy she was to do it."

"Well, she never reported to me with her collection of flowers," Sister Alkanet sniffed. A few creatures rolled their eyes at her authoritative claim, but even more began to give one another grim looks. The infirmary mouse's intricate system may have been a nuisance that morning, but it was still impressively and infamously thorough. Every beast to walk through the abbey doors with armfuls of flowers had without a doubt been interrogated and reassigned by the stern sister, which meant that Foremole Brull wasn't just missing from Great Hall. She was missing from Redwall Abbey itself.


	4. Chapter 3

Thick grey clouds, the kind that could bring the feel of nightfall even at noonday, were just beginning to roll over the edge of the horizon when Skipper of otters, the mole crew, and a sizable band of volunteers strode purposefully out of Great Hall. Some of the beasts carried javelins or slings, and the sword of Martin the Warrior was hanging readily on Deyna's belt. He had traded in the white smock for a simple kilt tied with a plain cord, which was his usual garb; he had tried to accustom himself to abbey robes for some time, but the thick draping fabric made him feel encumbered and a little clumsy. Even during the wintertime, his family could hardly get him to wear a cloak.

"Now listen close, mates," Skipper warned as they drew close to the looming abbey gates. "This 'ere is supposed to be a happy day. So first off, when we come back I want nobeast shoutin' or chargin' back into Great Hall to upset the dibbuns or the newlyweds while the singin' and dancin' goes on.

"Second of all, Deyna will show us every set o' mole tracks, and we'll all split up to follow 'em, but harken now: one missing mole is quite enough! I want you in groups o'three or more, with at least one beast in each group who can navigate the lands around Mossflower and find their way 'ome. Keep an eye on which direction you go, and if you get lost, try a few halloos to see if there's another team nearby! Those of you who aren't up for the rough terrain, you're welcome to take the land around the path to keep yer bearings. Deyna, once the trails are found, you and Boorab will act as runners between the groups and carry any news — and scouting any trails that 'ave been lost. Wummple's agreed to stay here and man the gates. Trey, you're to stand sentinel on the wall-tops to help spot anybeast approachin' the abbey."

There was an indignant stammer of protest from the young hotheaded mouse. He was barely out of dibbun-hood, but he was carrying a sizable stick from the orchard that was worn smooth: no doubt a play weapon from his childhood that he thought was now ready to see action. While Skipper growled out stern orders to Trey, Nimbalo elbowed the brawny otter at his side and muttered smugly. "Poor young'n. He's not an experienced warrior yet like us, eh Deyna?"

The former Taggerung passed his little friend a faint smile, but did not reply. His mind was already on the many tracks that would be waiting for them outside the abbey grounds. The sun's light would soon start to fade into late afternoon, and then evening would come… and with it, the black clouds that were hanging low with torrents of rain that would erase everything. Deyna had been taught how to track through any terrain, any weather, but even _he_ had lost his quarry once or twice. And every time had been due to violent cloudbursts like the one that threatened to close this wedding day.

"CREEEEAK." The great wooden doors groaned on their hinges as Skipper and some of his crew removed the crossbar and pulled the gate inwards. A few impatient moles, mice, and even young Wegg the hedgehog barreled out as soon as there was space for them to get through to the path. "No, no, ya puddin' headed dolts, don't trample all the tracks!" Skipper roared in frustration after them. The chargers faltered and skidded to a halt — even those who had not heard the otter leader's words had still remembered that they didn't know which direction to take just yet.

Realizing that it was he they were waiting for, Deyna slipped to the front of the throng and strode out with his eyes roving all over the ground for pawprints. The pathway before Redwall's gates was trampled smooth even without the help of the beasts who had been over-eager to charge, so he drifted to the side towards Mossflower Wood and immediately started giving the road a wide berth. There were no flowers of worth to be found to the west, across the ditch in the wide bare meadows, which left only the forest and scrubland. Where the hard, dry dirt of the walkway met the spring grass, he crouched and beckoned for the first group in the search party to come forward: Gundil, Durby, and Swash came to his side. The Redwall warrior showed them a track that split from the many sets of paws, identifiable by its surprisingly-wide print and the three central claws that dug into the ground more than the two on the outside. "Mole," he announced simply, and off they went after it around the back wall of the abbey.

No sooner had they passed him than a second group approached, with Nimbalo in their lead and itching to start. "Wish you could join my team, matey," he huffed restlessly. "Which way are we off to?"

Deyna patted the ground beside another tell-tale set of mole tracks, leading off in a slightly-different direction from the first group. "Northeast by east. Now you be careful out there… this might be the work of a Juska tribe."

"Fah, after the sound beatin' Russano gave 'em last time?" the harvest mouse let out a bark of confident laughter as he trotted off with his companions. "If any o'those yellow-bellied weaseling vermin show their faces around here, they'll be scamperin' back to their mammies by the time I'm done with 'em!"

Skipper's team was next; the otter leader wanted to be in the center of all the hunting parties, so that he and his followers could best race to the aid of whomever might need it. Deyna barely even had to point at the next mole trail before they headed off. "Be careful, Deyna," Blekker murmured with a wink to him as she passed. The Redwall warrior's cheeks flushed anew, and he wondered whether it was his imagination that her lashes seemed to flutter just a tiny bit more than usual when she glanced back at him. Mhera had been right, of course, that the swarthy she-otter seemed to have her eye on him… but Deyna wasn't even sure whether he felt the same way. Blekker and the other Redwall otters had become his fast friends almost immediately when he came to the abbey, but now when any of the females started asking coy questions or making doe eyes at him, he was barely able to think of anything more than his own embarrassment, let alone his feelings. As the only otter in the entire tribe of Sawney Rath, he had never had those sort of admirers before.

The sound of footsteps at his side shook the Taggerung from his thoughts, and he pointed Drogg the cellarhog and his companions down the next trail. The last group was led by Hoarg, who looked less like a gatekeeper with a sizable quarterstaff clamped between his fists. "Thank goodness the Skipper assigned Trey to keep watch for me," the hardy mouse grunted as he studied Deyna's final set of tracks. "Those seem simple enough to follow. We'll be sure to halloo and holler if we find anything."

"Either Boorab or I will be traveling between you and the other teams," the Redwall warrior called after him as they departed. Beside him, the only beast still on the path was one single irrepressible hare who was bouncing from foot to foot until the bells in his ears were jingling nonstop. "I say, almost a jolly sort of adventure if it weren't for the bally grim circumstances, eh Deyna, ol' chap? Runnin' messages twixt the ranks and all that. Makes me feel springy as a leveret again!"

"I'll take the southern groups," the Taggerung murmured, but he couldn't hide a slight grin at Boorab's contagious attitude. "You take the northerners. We'll both report to Skipper, straight east, and we'll switch if any of your teams have a trail that needs finding again."

"Only if I can't find the flippin' trail meself, wot wot! Never forget, sah, that this Baggscut has done time in the woodlands too! I'll be knockered if any mole manages to slip out from beneath my nose, so there!" And with that, the incorrigible hare bounded northwards, at a surprising pace for someone who stole as many snacks from the kitchens as he was known to do. Deyna followed after Skipper's eastern team at a light trot. After a few minutes, he started to curve his path southwards as he went, so as to pass along towards the other groups in hopes of hearing any news that was to be found of poor Foremole Brull.

But before two hours were even up, the light finally vanished from the sky and the land darkened. The sun had not set in a glorious blaze of orange and golden purple over Mossflower, but rather had been swallowed up by the heavy clouds as a cold wind pushed them down out of the northeast where the abbeybeasts were searching; nature seemed to desire one last vengeful storm to remind the earth of its winter past. Many of the Redwallers donned their cloaks and lit torches that they had brought for such a purpose, but as Deyna passed each group in turn he could see in their eyes that they knew the rain would soon put a stop to everything. The searchers were going slower. Many of the trails had been lost and then found again too many times to count; others had been short and had doubled back to the abbey, to the great disappointment of the teams that had been following them. However, rather than allowing Gundil or Nimbalo to join the last few parties that were still out searching, Skipper ordered them to return to Redwall in the face of the coming storm.

Eventually Deyna and Boorab found themselves jogging between only three of the original five groups, mainly straight east into the woodlands or south along the fringes towards St. Ninian's Church. The portly hare was huffing and puffing like a bellows and refused any offers of a rest, despite Deyna's assurances that he himself was not in the least bit exhausted yet. But all mirth was gone from their conversations now.

Before long, a big fat droplet of water sailed down and burst on the Skipper's ear, and he growled in earnest. "Faster, mateys!" His group surged forward, as the other two parties also did in their own deep depths of the forest. Plip! Plop! Plip! Plop! The rain rustled the bushes with a whisper at first, then grew to a rattling crescendo and hissed upon the Redwall torches. Tiny rivulets of water started to run along through the undergrowth in search of a river, oblivious to the vital tracks that were being wiped away.

It soon took nearly all of Deyna's training to race beneath the search parties without slipping upon the muddy ground, the sound of rain and the pressure of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. Everywhere he looked, he almost wished to find a remnant from a Juska tribe, in the hopes of securing a lead to pursue on the following morning. But there had been no creatures other than Redwallers in these woods. His conversations were short, as he spent more and more time picking up the trails as they faded away. Even when the tracks were gone, he would push forward and try to help the abbeybeasts spot the broken twigs and crushed leaves that could still remain as evidence… but with the rain pounding down upon everything, the flickering torches nearly out, and the speed of the hunters now down to a crawl, he was both relieved and horrified when Skipper finally called a halt and brought the three parties together under the slightly-dry cover of a fat hawthorne. "There's nothin' more we can do tonight, mates, and that's a fact," the soaking otter leader murmured without an ounce of pleasure in his voice. "Brull wouldn't go much further n'this. And iffen we do, we'll only serve to get lost ourselves." He bit his lip. "Tis me own fault, not thinkin' we might need supplies to keep travelin' through the night. She had several hours o'daylight, and we only scraped up two. Now we've no no moon, no stars, an' less flame than a good candle to see our way _back_ by, nevermind keepin' on the trail. "

Skipper turned to Redwall's head warrior with a gaze of both dread and hope. "Deyna, did you find any trace of vermin at all? Any sign that she might have been captured by summat?"

The Taggerung shook his head forlornly. "Nothing, Skip. I almost wish there had been. A pack of vermin is far easier to track than a single beast."

"Ahoy, _Bruuuuull_ ," Brother Hoarg called desperately into the trees with his paws cupped around his mouth. "Are you out there? Halloooooo, Brull!"

All the abbeybeasts jumped as a clear, deep reply came back to them through the gloom: "Halloooooo y'self, there!"


	5. Chapter 4

Skipper and many creatures within the search party clutched at their weapons immediately. Deyna, however, cocked his head to one side and perked an ear into the air at the surprisingly-familiar voice. His keen eyes caught the faint outline of a distant shape, round and bulking, as it ambled towards them through the downpour. The warrior's face broke into a broad grin. "Could that be Jurkin Dillypin, Champion Spike-Tussler of all Mossflower that I see?"

The distant hedgehog threw back his head and cackled in delight. "Hohohoho! Is that th'voice o'Tagg the Tattooed Terror I hear? Brace yer spikes, y'great lollopin' streamdog!"

The two creatures roared and charged each other with their heads lowered: the Taggerung had one palm planted against his forehead with his claws spread like quills. His friends all gave horrified shouts as he and Jurkin crashed together like a pair of boulders. Their skulls locked and they heaved and scrabbled in the mud, each trying to knock his opponent off his feet in the traditional manner of wrestling hedgehogs. Deyna knew that he could easily roll into a somersault and send the Dillypin chieftain sprawling, but instead he jostled his friend playfully. "Is it just me, or have you gotten bigger, spike-dog?"

The great hedgehog laughed heartily along with him, and after one final shove they separated and stood upright. "I'll take that as a compliment, bucko!" Jurkin panted. "Season o'spikes, Tagg, in th'dark a beast can 'ardly see them big tattoos on yer! Y'practically look like a civilized creature!"

The Taggerung seized the Dillypin's paw and pumped it up and down heartily until the hog's headspikes rattled. "I had them removed, mate! The name's Deyna now. I found Redwall Abbey after all!"

"Aye," Skipper grunted as he approached. He sized the newcomer up approvingly. "He ain't a Tattooed Terror no more. So you're the chieftain of the Dillypins, eh? Deyna speaks right highly of you."

"As well he should," Jurkin snorted smugly, turning to cup both paws around his mouth and holler over his shoulder: "Ahoy, Dillypins! 'Tis Tagg, and a load of abbeybeasts! Step to it, now!"

Delighted squeals and cheers came out of the woodlands, then countless shadows burst through the torrents of rain and came scrambling after their leader in a frenzy. Deyna was nearly bowled over by three hogbabes that charged him at once and clung to his legs and rudder. Some of the Dillypins came hurtling on so fast that when they tried to stop, their footpaws skidded through the mud and they went crashing into Drogg in a tidal wave of rainwater, spikes, and sludge. The abbey cellarhog rolled into a ball just before they reached him, and the impact sent his prickly form rolling into a gooseberry bush. Jurkin cackled at the sight Drogg made when he sat up; dripping red berries were impaled all over his head and back like a pincushion. "Hohohoho! You look fit t'be the centerpiece at an abbey feast, matey!"

"Jurkin Dillypin," Drogg chuckled as he climbed shakily upright. "I should've known to brace myself with your tribe about! You wreaked absolute havoc last time you visited Redwall — and I remember, though you may not; you were barely more than a dibbun at the time."

"Why, sure I remember!" the hedgehog chieftain cried in delight, clapping a paw to his forehead. "Me ol' second brother's first cousin twice removed! Or is it a first brother's second cousin, er… Drogg, isn't it? What brings y'out into Mossflower at this time o'night, me great fat cellarhog?"

"I was fixin' to ask you the same question," Skipper cut in, his voice growing serious. "Don't you Dillypins usually stick to the rivers?"

"Aye, that we do," Jurkin's wife admitted as she pried her babes from Deyna's legs. "But a few of our friends 'ave gone missin' roundabouts… even Jurkin's best 'og, Nibbit."

The lead hedgehog visibly sobered at the mention of his lost kin. "An' it ain't just Dillypins, mates," he added grimly. "Bank voles, vermin, even an ol' red kite that's been givin' us trouble near the sou'eastern fork. All vanishin' like snow on a spring afternoon. Finally I says to me family, 'Best get somewhere safe, and what's safer hereabouts than Redwall,' says I? We've young'uns to think about a'fore we go out and look fer trouble proper-like. Once me darlin's are safe, I'd like to get m'paws nice and tight around the throat o'whatever creature's been causin' this grief," he growled.

"Aye, we're lookin' for one of our own as well," Skipper murmured. "Haven't found any traces of anybeast, have ye?"

"Not s'much as a bruised leaf, me bucko."

"I've been wondering if it could be the work of a Juska clan," Deyna admitted grudgingly. "The Juskabor may have been banished to the southlands, but they weren't the only tribe in Mossflower."

"I don't see what good there would be in killing off your own kind," Brother Hoarg reminded him with a scratch of his graying whiskers. "You might know the ways of vermin better than I, Deyna, but somehow I can't fathom that they could be behind this. Not if other thieves and vagabonds just like them are going missing. Yowch!" The old mouse clapped a paw to his face, where a sizable chunk of ice had smacked off the end of his snout. Beside him, Blekker yelped as another frozen missile pelted the top of her skull. "Hailstones," Skipper yelled with a wave of his arm. "We'll talk later, mates. Back to Redwall, double-quick!"

The abbeybeasts and Dillypins darted through the trees together and staggered along through the muddy slopes of Mossflower, barking in pain whenever frigid marbles of ice clacked off their heads or clattered down their backs. The hedgehogs had it the easiest; their thick layers of spikes made them almost immune to the downpour of frozen raindrops. Amongst them, Deyna made his way closer to Skipper without hardly batting an eyelash at the barrage as it pelted him from nose to tailtip. "This is going to make tracking Brull completely impossible tomorrow," he protested. "Any broken twigs or crushed leaves that she left behind will be gone. Her pawmarks have already erased by the rain… let me stay back and see how much further the trail goes. Maybe I can find her before the hailstones cover everything — I don't mind the weather, you know."

But thee otter leader merely shook his head. "Sorry, Deyna, but yer sister would tan my hide iffen' I let you," he sighed apologetically. "Truth be told, I don't like the idea much, either. If Brull didn't go missing by herself, then the last thing I want to do is leave the son of me old mate Rillflag out in the woodlands alone. Taggerung or no."

The Dillypins and the last of the search parties arrived at Redwall Abbey looking far less like warriors or travelers, and far more like strange, mystical beasts that had come to life in the midst of the rainstorm. Their tunics, cloaks, and fur were splattered with mud all over, which streaked down their arms and tails at different thicknesses where rainwater had formed interwoven trails along their bodies. Many of the hedgehogs had prickles so filled with twigs, fallen leaves, and even a few small branches that it looked as if they had sprouted antlers. Trey, Wummple, and all of the abbeybeasts that had returned early from the search were waiting for them at the gate. Under the protective shadow of the high sandstone ramparts, Mhera had arranged for several torches and lanterns to be lit as everyone watched the empty wilderness with anxious murmurs. However, at the sight of the crowd of beasts on the path, Gundil and a few of his friends ambled eagerly out into the hail to meet them. "Hurr, did'ee find any sign'ovurr, Skip?"

The tall otter's face was an open book for them to read, and some of the bright black eyes of the moles started to glitter with tears that mingled with the rain. "We went as far as we possibly could," Skipper murmured, looking more his age than he ever had before. The act of bearing the bad news to others over and over seemed to weigh on his heart and add years to his whiskers. "But t'ain't safe fer us to try and go further in this weather. If Brull's out there, let's hope she's made herself a good dry burrow."

The party reached the massive doorway and sighed with relief as they stepped under the archway to escape the rain and pounding hailstones. Many of the abbeybeasts shook their head in amazement at the number of hedgehogs that were pouring in and shaking mud off their headspikes… then one loud voice called out over the din, "Well if it isn't Jurkin Dillypin, y'great snot-nosed, addlebrained excuse for a spikedog! Never thought I'd see you quit your life o'rovin' an' raftin'!"

"Hohoho, Nimbalo, me ol' messmate! I'd wondered where I'd find ya! Knew y'couldn't be far, not with yore ol' friend Ta— er, Deyna about! Suppose I can't blame yeh for hidin' from me, I am a dreadful frightenin' beast after all!"

The boisterous harvest mouse traded mocking punches with the Dillypin chieftain and his kin, carefully avoiding the touch of their prickles and guiding them towards the main abbey building with the storm overhead nearly forgotten. "Ha! Me, scared? Me ol' grandma was more frightenin' than you, mate! Creatures used to take one look at her and then beg me to slay 'em! That's how I first got my name, you know!"

Mhera shook her head in mock horror as Nimbalo's voice trailed away into the distance. "Oh, that dreadful fibber! Those Dillypins are only going to make his tales taller than ever, I suspect."

Not far away, Deyna stood out in the torrential downpour, wringing out his kilt and brushing the mud down his fur as the rain slowly washed it away onto the abbey lawn. His little friend's jovial mood hadn't been enough to bring a smile back to his face this time. "They came looking for sanctuary," he explained sadly. "Brull isn't the only beast to have gone missing in Mossflower."

Mhera's eyes widened. "Do you think it could be a pack of vermin?"

The Taggerung stepped back under the ramparts and violently shook the moisture off his coat before donning one of the dry cloaks that the abbess and her followers had brought for the party of searchers. "That's just it — there are vermin that have gone missing, too. I think we'd better be extra careful about letting any abbeybeasts outside of Redwall… especially alone."

Mhera nodded and hugged her brother tight before straightening up and resuming her stately role before the other beasts under the archway. Many of them, who had been murmuring amongst themselves, grew quiet as their eyes fell on her. "Tomorrow morning, we will ring the abbey bells as an alert to all of Mossflower Wood," the otter maiden announced. "Any beast seeking safety from this unknown danger can be lodged here until it is discovered, and stopped."

"Aye, marm," Skipper added with a curt nod. "Me and my crew will be out at dawn again, lookin' for fresh tracks."

"I will, too," Deyna agreed with a palm on the hilt of his sword.

Beside him, Mhera's face drew up into a pained smile and she held out a paw towards her dearest friend. "Gundil? Come here." Brushing away a threatening tear with his digging claws, the young mole trundled over to the abbess and tugged on his nose respectfully. The otter maiden crouched down and placed both of her paws onto his shoulders. "We musn't give up hope that Foremole Brull is alive out there," she began carefully. She pursed her lips to try and keep her emotions in check. "But in her absence, you and the other abbey moles should elect an acting leader… We wouldn't want Brull to come back and find her work on the gardens or the cellars abandoned."

"No'm, mizz," Gundul admitted diligently. "We'm down't, burr aye."

Behind him, the passel of moles began elbowing one another and whispering hurriedly in their quaint form of molespeech. All of the creatures beneath the gateway stared at them in confusion until one of them caught Mhera's curious eye and stood forward. It was Durby, who rocked back and forth on his footpaws like a shy dibbun asked to recite poetry in front of guests. His cheeks flushed bright pink. "Hurr, we'm, um… th'tis… we'm mowles've already v'hoted, we 'ave" he mumbled bashfully. "We'm bees gurtly grateful iffen' Gundil'd do et."

If Durby was blushing before, it was nothing to the bright red color that Gundil turned: the young mole hid his face in his smock at the flattery of his fellows, and couldn't be persuaded to lift his head for several minutes. Even when the entire party started walking back to the abbey building together, Mhera had to steer him towards the steps before he nearly crashed into the pink sandstone walls, because he refused to take his thick digging claws down. "We'll tell the rest of the Redwallers in the morning," she told them all. "I'm sure Gundil will do us proud as our acting Foremole… and I'm sure our brave searchers will find Brull in no time tomorrow, too!"

But the searchers didn't find Brull the next day. Or the day after. In fact, they would find no trace of her for a long, long time.


	6. Chapter 5

Deyna's eyes shot open in the darkness. He looked quickly over the contents of his bedchamber — neat and orderly, holding a bare minimum of his possessions — illuminated by clear shafts of moonlight cascading through the open window on his left. He always kept that window ajar. Even in the winter season, it was all the burly otter could do to keep from going mad if he stayed within an enclosed space for too long. As it was, the approach of summer was keeping the nights warmer and he had been only too eager to soak in the change in the air. However, this year, summer came with a pang of guilt, and the memories of spending nearly a whole season searching for the abbey's lost Foremole without any luck at all.

Deyna kept his ears pricked uneasily; he was almost certain that he had been woken up by some sound. Not the noise of any restless dibbuns or snoring moles - which he had come to recognize in no time flat - but rather a different noise. Whatever it was, it had come from outside on the abbey grounds. Perhaps it had something to do with the creatures vanishing around the depths of Mossflower… something to do with Foremole Brull.

"TONK. TONK. TONK."

Deyna slipped silently from his bed and peered out the window into the orchard, which was empty and quiet except for the whispering of leaves as a faint breeze blew through the branches of the nearby forest. It sounded like a creature was trying to knock at the front gate with a heavy spear butt.

Without a noise Deyna crept from his chamber into the hall, proud that he had always kept the hinges to his door well-oiled and silent. He made his way quickly through the labyrinth of corridors to the tapestry of Martin the Warrior, and after a respectful nod to the woven comrade, he removed the mouse's legendary blade from its place on the wall.

"TONK. TONK. TONK."

Within moments Deyna was emerging into the open night air, feeling the faint wind ruffling his dark fur. He wondered how long the traveler had been knocking; it was all-too obvious that no other beast in Redwall was awakened by the ruckus - not even Hoarg, the gatekeeper himself. Then again, little could rouse old Hoarg once he started snoring in his armchair.

Thankful for the moon lighting up the abbey grounds, Deyna could see almost as easily as if it were day as he made his way towards the front archway.

"TONK. TONK. TONK."

This time the knocking came from the east wickergate. Deyna paused on his way towards the ramparts and pricked his ears, hearing the sound of rattling as the night-time lurker tried to take his frustration out on the locked door. Soft voices could be heard as the noise died down, and Deyna even picked up the faint sound of pawsteps in the forest brush.

"Locked. Bet they're all loike that," grumbled the first voice. It was a male speaking, and his words had a strange round drawl. Deyna hadn't heard a beast speak exactly like that before, but the accent did remind him of a few southern mercenary corsairs that had briefly joined the Juskarath for a few seasons when he was young. It made his fur stand on end to think of it.

"Oy'll find a tree to cloimb," was the reply. A female, albeit with a deep throaty voice and the same strange dialect. There was a faint scraping noise, like claws digging into wood and bark. "These bandy-coots are lucky we ain't vermin, eh?"

"If anyone lives in there. Place moight be deserted," said the male. Deyna slipped into the shadows around the corner of the Abbey building, keeping his eyes on the branches of one particularly tall elm with leaves that had started to rustle.

"Nah, it's too well-kept for that," the maiden whispered. "No place like this'd stay empty for long. Make a good fo'tress. Besoides, Russano said the abbeybeasts still live in it." Deyna could see her dark shadow over the ramparts now, edging along carefully under the shadow of the tree's heavy branches.

Her companion snorted. "Three months ago, 'e said it. Sleepy lil' bandy-coots, ain't they?" There was a crack from one of the limbs the female was gripping. "Watch it, now. Don't fall."

"You're supposed to catch me if Oy do, Tikky," the female hissed, her silhouette shaking slightly as she edged further and further out on a branch close to the top of the sandstone wall. "That's why you're down there."

"You'd squish me inta jelly, ya fat lump. Catch yesself!"

"Shh!"

The elm branches were vibrating very violently now as the figure fought to keep her balance: Deyna was impressed that the rustling of the leaves didn't wake up the entire abbey. The stranger over the wall was much too sturdy and heavy to be a mouse or a squirrel, if the shaking tree hadn't proven that much already. Judging by the long limbs and the thick neck, it was probably a ferret or stoat. Once the creature came full into the moonlight, it would be easier to tell.

Deyna could tell that the beast was about to jump when the violent rustling suddenly came to a head, then his eyes caught a dark shape suspended in the air for just a moment. The leap was well done, but still not quite high enough to clear the outside border of the ramparts. The figure's chest slammed into the top of the wall with a muffled "oof," and Deyna could glimpse a head with two arms holding on over the wall for dear life. The creature began to growl and pull herself up.

"Come on, Tumbol," Tikky encouraged hoarsely. "Come on, you've got it! Almost there!"

Straining mightily with exertion, the poor beast finally managed after a moment or two to prop herself up on her elbows and lean over the top of the wall, able at last to look inside at the grounds and the giant abbey building. Hooking a hind leg over the sandstone brick, she came into a sitting position, straddling the wall and gasping for breath. Tikky was delighted.

"Attaway, Tumbol! Attagell! Go on, then!"

Breathing heavily but straightening up with pride, the figure slipped onto the ramparts and looked about. Now lit up by the full moon, Deyna could see a glint of gold in one of her ears: most likely a tribal or sea-beast's mark, and that meant it was no local. A thick crimson cowl was wrapped about her shoulders to fight off the cold of the spring night, but underneath she wore the loose garb of a sailor who was used to warmer climates. A broad tail flicked about behind her, but was hidden beneath the folds of the cloak; until he got a closer look, Deyna still wouldn't be able to tell what sort of beast she might be. But be she vermin or not, the beast was first and foremost a trespasser, and Deyna resolved not to allow her to let in her friends until he was sure that they could be trusted.

"Go back to the front," Tumbol whispered over the wall to Tikky. "Oy'll let you an' Rick in togethah."

"Hold on - catch this, first."

A long, thin rod suddenly shot up over the ramparts like a javelin, and Tumbol caught it with ease. She twirled it for a moment — it was a wooden quarterstaff, blunt at both ends — then swaggered confidently along the top of the wall and laid the rod nonchalantly across her shoulders like a rack. Her paw-steps were nearly silent on the red sandstone as she reached the steps and started to descend. Deyna adjusted his grip on the handle of the abbey sword and crept forward. When she came at last to the front gate, Tumbol knocked the butt of her staff against the giant wooden doors with a resounding "TONK". "G'dai, bandy-coots. What's the password?"

There was a loud smack against the other side of the gate. Another tired voice, similar to Tikky's, came through the blocked entrance in the midst of a deep yawn. "Aw, shut it, Tumbol."

"Open up," Tikky added.

"That ain't the password," Tumbol replied sternly.

There was a loud, irritated sigh from the other side of the wall. "…PLEASE."

"Good lads," the maiden muttered with satisfaction, examining the large crossbar carefully and crouching down to push up on it.

Deyna, creeping out into the moonlight, chose this moment to act. Weighing the sword of Martin the Warrior carefully in his one paw, he swung his arm in a wide arch and sent the blade hurtling deep into the dark wood of the gates above the crossbar with a loud "THUNK."

Tumbol leapt back at the loud noise and the sight of the gleaming sword buried deep in the abbey gate. She snatched up her staff and whirled around to face her potential attacker. However, as soon as she saw Deyna, she straightened up again and pulled her staff back with a friendly wave of her paw. "Oh. Evenin', mite."

"I'm not so sure you're any mate of mine," Deyna replied evenly. His long years of training had given him full control over how much of his emotions he put into his words: he was keeping his cool at the moment, and spoke with little animosity since the creature before him didn't seem to desire a fight any more than he did. Still, his remarks were curt and to the point; the beasts were still trespassing, after all.

"Easy, now, we don't want no trouble." She reached up and pulled her hood away, revealing a sea otter's bright-eyed face, all whiskered and speckled. The left side of her jaw was crisscrossed by a pale scar that pulled the corner of her mouth into somewhat of a permanent sneer. The mark was still scabbed in several places and even in the moonlight seemed rather gruesome-looking. "Though iffin' we did, you'd hafta aim bettah than that."

Deyna stood on his guard a few meters away, unarmed but no less dangerous than if he had been holding a weapon. He bared his teeth. "I missed on purpose. You're lucky that wasn't your head."

Tumbol let out a dry laugh and placed her paw on her hip, leaning casually on her quarterstaff. A thick rudder-like tail swished out from under her cape. The way she was standing, there were nearly fifteen ways he could have disarmed her in a flash: either she had no concern about the danger of her situation, or she had no knowledge of how to stand ready in case of a fight. She was so confident, it could have been either. "Ha! You're lucky we knocked first."

A few more loud whacks from the other side of the gate seemed to prove her point. "Oy! What's goin' on, then?"

Deyna crossed his arms, still glaring and not letting his guard down. "Stay where you are," he called over the wall as he heard pawsteps leaving for the east wall again. There was a long pause. Then the faint sound started up again. "I mean it," Deyna snapped. "Stay on the road at the front gate. I'll know if you try to sneak off."

"Easy lads, Oy can handle it," the otter maid added. At this, her comrade could be heard returning. Trudging, likely. Neither raucous male seemed too keen on being left out.

Deyna turned to look on the stranger before him. "You know, for somebeast that claims to be friendly, you sure don't seem to understand the proper way to pay a visit," he said. "Haven't you ever heard the saying that anyone who doesn't enter by a gate is a thief?"

Tumbol snorted at the remark and scratched her chin — she didn't seem to notice when one of the scabs broke beneath her claws and started bleeding. "Like Oy said, you're lucky we ain't vermin comin' to steal from ya. Thieves don't knock."

"Oy," one of the other travelers barked from outside again, still banging his fist against the doors. "Let us in, eh! We'h knockin' alright!"

"Keep away from our sistah!"

"Redwall Abbey is a place of peace," Deyna asserted grimly. "You won't be allowed to wear any weapons so long as you remain within these walls."

"Oy can see that," Tumbol chuckled, patting the red pommel stone on the hilt of Martin's sword. "This is your toothpick then, eh?"

The hairs on the back of Deyna's neck bristled angrily. "I'm charged to protect Redwall, marm. From trespassers as _well_ as vermin." Tumbol didn't seem to like that answer too much, but if she was nervous she didn't show it. Her brothers, on the other hand, were becoming frustrated.

"Should'a opened the door when we knocked then, ya bandy!"

"We ain't no scraggy vermin! Oy know Tumbol's a fright to look at, but we ain't!"

The otter maiden kicked the gate venomously, since the brother who had made the remark was out of her reach. However, she seemed determined to win Deyna's favor through arrogant casualties, so she leaned her staff back against the wall and attempted to pull his sword from the gate. It took her three tries before the blade finally came unstuck. Trying not to stumble, the Tumbol gripped the weapon by the top of the hit and held it out to Deyna, blade pointing downwards. "We're just travelahs, mite," she assured him confidently. "Friends o' Russano the Wise. Thought the place might be deserted when nobody answered, tha'sall."

Deyna accepted the blade slowly. "You're not seeking refuge?"

"From what?" Tumbol snorted. "Tain't nothin' out there for miles, 'cept the moon an' stahs."

Deyna nodded absently. He was still secretly berating himself for not hearing the knocking earlier, and while these strangers didn't seem as suspicious as before, that was no reason to become too friendly too fast. "What's your name?"

As if she had been waiting for this moment, the she-otter drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders proudly. "Tumbol Nevahh," she announced.

"Yeah," one of her brothers called, pounding on the gate roughly. "You cross us, and you cross the whole clan o'tha Thundah-Holt!"

Deyna's eyes narrowed at the threat. "Where are you from?"

Tumbol opened her mouth, then her features grew wide with surprise, as if she had expected a different question to be asked. "Ain't you evvah heard o'the Thundah-Holt?" she asked incredulously. "Oy thought we'd be furthah from the coast 'afore meetin' an ottah what don't know the name Nevahh." Not waiting for an answer, she turned her head and hollered back over the wall. "Oy, lads! This stream-dog don't know the name Nevahh!"

This was met with great hilarity by the two Nevarr brothers standing outside the gate: they could be heard cackling and barking raucously. "Hohoho! Raised undah a _rock_ , were you, Bandy-coot?"

"Just you wait 'til the folks he'ah this wan back home, ha ha!"

"Nevvah heard the name Nevahh!"

"Must'a been raised by a bunch'a moles!"

Tumbol picked up her staff and twirled it, looking at Deyna curiously out of the corner of her eye. Though her companions were clearly amused by this new turn of events, a hint of apprehension seemed to flicker through her features now… as if the Redwall warrior's indifference to her family name was a sudden crack in her defenses that made her feel less-protected than before. "You Redwall ottahs come to the Hullabaloo every dozen seasons, don'cha? No ottah at the Hullabaloo don't know the name Nevahh."

Deyna straightened up slowly. "I grew up far from here. I haven't been to a Hullabaloo just yet."

Tumbol shrugged. "Makes sense, then, aye— "

Suddenly a loud crash echoed from back within the abbey building. Deyna whirled around in surprise, his warrior adrenaline starting up again. The trespassers had only been a diversion!


	7. Chapter 6

Leaping into action, Deyna swung the sword of Martin the Warrior and knocked Tumbol's staff out of her paws before she could blink, then snatched the neck of her shawl and shoved her into the front gates. He raised the blade threateningly. "How many of you are there?"

Tumbol had turned as white as a sheet. It was clear now that she was not near as ready for a fight as she had first pretended to be. "Whaaa—?"

Heavy objects started crashing angrily on the other side of the doors. "Oy, Bandy-coot! Let her go!"

"Don't you touch her!"

"How many beasts do you have inside these walls right now?" Deyna demanded fiercely, ignoring the roaring of Tumbol's brothers or the noise of one of them running through the brush around to the Abbey wall's east end. "Answer me!"

"We don't," the otter maiden snapped indignantly at him. "It's just us three!"

Unwilling to shed blood or waste time, Deyna gave Tumbol a punch that he hoped would stun her for a moment and shoved her to the side. Then he whirled around and shot across the lawn to the abbey building. One of Nevarr brothers was still hammering on the front gate like mad. "Tumbol! You alright? You'd bettah not 'ave hurt her, Bandy-coot…"

Denya burst through the front door of the abbey and flew through Great Hall, racing to the right with the sword of Martin the Warrior gripped tight in his paw. He reached the door to the kitchen within seconds and slid through, diving upon a dark figure lurking in the shadows. The commotion overturned a second pile of pots and pans. There was a violent scuffle and a loud yelp, then the otter recognized the face of the victim he had pinned to the floor. "Boorab?" he exclaimed incredulously.

The poor hare was lying flat on his back and and staring at Deyna's raised sword with a petrified look on his face. "Deyna, old chap! Fancy meeting you here!"

"Fancy meeting you? Boorab, what are you doing awake in the kitchens at this hour?" Deyna exclaimed. Boorab grinned weakly as the abbey warrior hoisted him to his feet by his collar, and tried to brush a few telltale crumbs from the wrinkles in his harlequin tunic. "Sleepwalking, me old chum. Lucky you came to snap me out of it, eh, wot wot!"

There was a loud bark of laughter from the doorway: two burly sea-otter twins stood with their arms crossed under the threshold, and Tumbol lingered behind them, nursing a black eye. The entire trio sported matching golden earrings and speckled faces, confirming that they were most definitely siblings — and seafaring ones, at that. "Show me a hare in a kitchen by accident, an' Oy'll show you a bandy-coot what can fly!" one of the brothers sniggered.

Deyna released Boorab's tunic and raised his sword warily: each of the Nevarr twins were proudly displaying their own individual weapons. The otter on the right bore two long, slim dirks in his belt, which was buckled around a rough burlap sort of kilt. His twin, whose fur was slightly lighter, twirled a thin-bladed hatchet in his left hand. Three very worn-looking travel packs, cloaks, and funny leather hats with curled wide brims and dented caps were dumped on the floor by their feet. Deyna had seen drawings of a few scattered sea otters that had once visited Redwall, and they were notoriously massive — but this trio was smaller and more slender than the rest of their kind. Still, while they were nowhere near as whiskered as they ought to be, the visitors were still more scruffy than any of the Redwall otters by far. They were a magnificent puzzle.

Tumbol stepped forward and placed an arm around each of her brothers' shoulders, grinning at Deyna with needle-sharp teeth, and monitoring him through her one unswollen eye. "Told you it was just us three," she asserted with a slight sneer in her voice. "This here's Ricky…" she jerked her head towards the dark-furred otter with the dirks. "An' Tikky," she added, nodding to her brother on the left. "Just lookin' for a place to lodge, mite. If you can't take us, we can leave."

"I say," Boorab exclaimed, looking quite at a loss as to the group of strangers that had appeared in the kitchen in the middle of the night. "Clever naming gimmick, wot. Does that make you Tom, then, Missy?"

The Nevarr sister chuckled deep in her throat. "Tumbol. Woulda been Tom, but Pa had to change 'is plans since Oy was a girl." Deyna shook his head in confusion. At his blank look, Tumbol's lips curled into a lopsided smile. "Old milit'tree song, mite, for marchin' in time. 'Rikki-Tikki-Tom'."

"Me ol' pater sang it many a time in the jolly old ranks," Boorab recalled fondly. "Taught it to me when I was no more than a flippin' ball o'fuzz!"

"What in the blazes is going on 'ere?"

The Nevarr siblings whirled around to behold a small crowd gathering in Great Hall. Skipper of otters stood head of the throng, flanked by Mhera, Foremole Gundil, and Sister Alkanet.

"Deyna," the lead otter asked warily, eyeing the three strangers in confusion and giving Boorab a stern scowl. "Would'ye mind explaining exactly… who these three strangers are, and what'cher all doin' here in the middle of the night?"

"And why there's a great lollopin' hare in my kitchens!?" Friar Bobb practically squealed as he trundled out of the oven room where he always slept. "What 'ave you cleaned us out of, you thievin' ruddy rabbit! Swipin' our stores in the middle of the night— why if Lady Cregga were still Abbey overseer, you'd be stripped of every decent name in that ridiculous title o'yorn and booted out the front gate by me own footpaw!"

Boorab's ears stood up so straight that they started to quiver, as if trying to grow an extra inch. The bells attached to them let out a faint jingle, causing the three Nevarr siblings to snort at his indignant outrage. "Rabbit, do you say!? _Rabbit_ , laddie buck? I'll show you a blinkin' rabbit, wot!"

But Skipper of Otters grabbed him by the arm and cut off his rantings. "Surely you learned straight off as a babe of Long Patrol officers how very serious stealing rations is! Tain't no trivial offense, mate, that's for certain. Especially when we've got extra beasts streaming in from all o'Mossflower askin' fer sanctuary!"

"Really, Boorab, I am surprised at you," Mhera reprimanded gently. Her seven words seemed to cut the hare deeper than any of the friar's rantings or the skipper's warnings: he practically wilted at her sorrowful gaze. "Oh, do excuse a poor chap for a moment of horrendously infernal fleshly weakness," he exclaimed, wringing his hands and drooping his ears until they almost touched the floor. "Really, marm, I would never wish for another beast to go hungry. Just a fleeting midnight tummy rumble— why, say the word and I'll dine on nothing but raw cabbage for the rest of the summer season if it means I won't have to leave dear old Redwall! Don't kick a poor Baggscutt out on his cotton tail with naught but an instrument to his name, empty-pawed as the day he came to Mossflower sixteen seasons ago! Oh say you won't, marm!"

By the end of it he was on his knees, sober as the plague and clutching at the abbess' robes in absolute consternation. Skipper had been right; any beast with half an inkling of the severity of punishments for food-stealing felt nothing but pity for the traveling bard now. Mhera looked down upon the hare with such intensity that her whiskers were twitching uncontrollably. Most of the beasts in the hall thought it was because she was angry… but those who knew her best like Skipper and Deyna could tell that she was really just trying not to burst out laughing. "Then," she announced. Her voice cracked so badly that she had to put a paw over her mouth and clear her throat to keep her composure. "As Mother Abbess, I declare…"

Boorab's lip quivered and he bowed his head. For a moment Deyna thought he might actually burst into tears, and he felt a stab of real actual pity for the hare, who was taking this sentence — whatever it was — without protest. The three Nevarr siblings were watching the proceedings with grim solemnity, and even a touch of fascination. Judging by their three rowdy personalities, Deyna guessed that organized punishments were likely something new to the sea otters.

"…that you have brought this upon yourself," Mhera sighed with her paws clasped behind her back. "A return to your period of probation, Boorab Baggscutt: one season in which you will eat nothing but cabbage and drink nothing but water, unless otherwise prescribed by Sister Alkanet."

"Merciful, magnificent, _magnanimous_ Mother Abbess," the hare wailed, burying his face in the corner of her robe to dab at the corners of his watery eyes. "You won't regret it, not in the slightest! You'll see — I'll be the very blinkin' definition of self-discipline, wot! Not a crumb for Boorab the Fool, no sah! I shall adhere to my punishment without a syllable of complaint!" Then he paused long enough to grow a little pale at the concept. "Oh corks, a whole bally season eating nothing but _cabbage_ … passing by all the absolutely terrifically scrumptious scoff that's made in these heavenly kitchens!? I'm doomed!" Mhera cleared her throat. Boorab quickly leapt to his feet and gave her a rigid salute. "Won't let you down, marm — I'll eat nothing but cabbage or die trying!

"And the latter seems the more likely of the two, eh, wot," he muttered to himself.

Mhera finally released the smile that had been fighting to break over her face for some time. "Redwall would never be the same without you if you left, Boorab." Then she turned to eye her brother and the three scruffy strangers at the door. "And it seems we have guests?" she inquired coolly.

Deyna crossed his arms, not wanting the Nevarrs to be hospitably received just yet. The other abbeybeasts deserved to know exactly who they would be welcoming. "They snuck inside the walls," he explained bluntly.

"Cuz no one answered our _knockin_ '," Tumbol snapped at him with a voice like ice.

"Burr, but 'ow could ee gurrt h'otters get insoider h'abbey boy'mselves when vermin be troyin' fer ages?" Foremole Gundil asked in a tone of slight awe from just behind the abbess.

"Sometimes two or three can succeed where armies have failed," Skipper muttered thoughtfully. Tikky's lip curled into a mixture of a snarl and a grin at the great tattooed otter leader, and it was no great surprise to Deyna when he tossed out his family name again. "Specially if those three is Nevahhs, straight an' true," he bragged.

Even Mhera lost a little color to her face at the name that he spoke, though it was Skipper who stepped forward in confusion and awe. "Impossible," the otter leader countered with a mix of a snort and a laugh. "You whelps are far too small to be Nevarrs; I can see you're at least half freshwater blood! I've met many a sea otter claiming to be part of the Thunder-Holt, but a little salt in your family tree won't earn you that name."

"Half rivvah-dog we are, but don't think we ain't got our othah half from any ol' salt's family line," Tumbol snorted. She finally pulled her arms off of her brother's shoulders and crossed them moodily, content to let the two brawny sea otters act like her bodyguards. As she talked, Deyna noticed a change in the expressions of some of the abbeybeasts: they seemed surprised to see that the slight grimace on the otter maid's face was something permanent, thanks to the wound near her jaw. Sister Alkanet's skills as a healer meant that the abbeybeasts rarely saw creatures with great scars like this one. Fortunately, Tumbol appeared oblivious to their stares. She held up a paw in pledge. "Direct descendants of the Nevahh brothahs, on me life: an' if you don't believe us, we can prove it in a diplomatic little fashion outside."

"There'll be no need for that," Mhera ordered promptly: her accent was so clean next to Tumbol's that the scabby Nevarr sister actually seemed to take heed to her words. "Redwall Abbey is a place of peace, and we accept _all_ travelers no matter their heritage." She gave Skipper a warning glance before continuing. "Our only requirement is that you _respect_ that peace. There will be no stealing, no fighting, no possession of weapons or unwholesome talk whilst you rest here. Is that understood?"

"Aye, marm," Ricky murmured with a sudden sweeping bow and a respectful tug of his ear. "No disrespect meant, does we Tumbol?"

"Nope, Missus," Tumbol admitted quickly. She and Ricky turned to Tikky. When he said nothing, Tumbol elbowed him in the ribs.

"No disrespeck," Tikky choked in pain as he clutched his side… but from the mischievous glint in his eyes Deyna had a feeling Tumbol would be getting a punch to her own ribs before the sun rose.

"Very well," Mhera murmured. "Skipper, if you would please see to it that their weapons are properly stored? We certainly don't want any dibbuns getting ahold of them… or even _knowing_ about them, if it's possible."

"Wha'sa dibbun?"

"Hurr, ee liddle h'infants in'ee h'abbey, they'm be moighty naughty," Gundil explained with a chuckle.

"Sister Alkanet will see to your lodging," Mhera told the Nevarrs, and she gave Tumbol a nod in particular. "She can also put a poultice on that wound for you."

"Wha' wound?" Tumbol looked down to inspect herself in surprise.

Tikky grabbed the opportunity to smack her upside the jaw, as revenge for the bruise on his ribs. "The wound you're alway's scratchin'," he reprimanded, showing her the blood that had stuck to his paw from her fur. "Must be two seasons old by now!"

"That fing?" Tumbol muttered. She self-consciously rubbed her cheek and unknowingly made the red smear spread a little further… though it also might have been her blushing. "Don't bothah, missus; Oy tend to scratch it in me sleep. We've tried everyfin'."

"Not my medicine, you haven't," the uptight infirmary mouse snipped back at her. "And I won't have you laying a claw on those scabs until they heal good and proper, even if it means I have to tie both your paws behind your back every night!"

Tumbol's ears fell flat and she bared her teeth in a ferocious, maniacal grin that sent shivers down every spine. "Oh, you just try it, mousey, Oy _beg_ ya—"

"That's enough," Ricky snapped, grabbing his sister by the scruff of the neck until her back was arched. "You do what she says. You're a lady he'ah."

"Oy'd like to see _you_ try to sleep wiv' your paws bound," the she-otter squealed back at him. "It ain't fair! Oy can't help it!" Tumbol didn't stop her wailing as Ricky took hold of her earring and passed her off to the stern little Sister Alkanet, who led her away and twisted the golden hoop whenever her patient struggled. "Oy can't help it, Oy tell ya! It don't evvah heal propah— _owowow!_ Leggo! It ain't fair! Oy, Ricky, wait! Oy don't wanna stay he'ah no more! Oy wanna go home! Waaah!"

"Poor blighter should have made a run for it," Boorab clucked reproachfully. "I shudder to think the dreadful physicking she's in for now."

"Hurr hurr, she'm strugglin' will h'only make it worser, burr aye!"


	8. Chapter 7

Deyna was awake at sunrise like he always was, though his eyes and muscles still twinged with the memories of all that had transpired the night before. He and Skipper's crew were up early for a morning swim in the abbey pond, followed by some sparring and wrestling matches. Deyna always tended to win those — though in the end he would always ask for all the other otters to team up against him so that he could improve his skills. When he first came to the abbey during the previous Autumn, he had originally tried to forget his past and put aside his deadly training — not even showing off during festivals and feasts. But Skipper, Mhera, and even Filorn had begged him not to let his talent go to waste… and now, with Mossflower innocents disappearing without a trace, Deyna had a strange sense of foreboding — like the strong feeling he had once received every time Martin the Warrior had whispered in his dreams — that his role as Redwall's Champion might be soon called upon.

The morning tussle was just coming to a close when Nimbalo came swaggering out to join them (the little harvest mouse always enjoyed a friendly wrestle now and then), followed closely by Ricky Nevarr. Now that the other otters had a chance to see Ricky in the daylight, they had to admit that the sea dog was a particularly strapping specimen, if for no other reason than because he was one of the few beasts within the sandstone walls that could match Deyna's height… even though his strange leather hat was currently giving him a couple extra inches to flaunt. Beside him, Nimbalo was practically dancing with excitement. "Oy, Deyna! Take a look at this big ruddy fellow— says he and his family came in last night t'pay a visit! Bet'cha can't beat 'im in a tussle!"

Deyna and the otters grinned, passing over the fact that they'd already met the rover in the wee hours of that morning… or that Nimbalo had slept through the whole thing. "Who, a measly little riverdog like me?" Deyna teased back. "I barely ever win when I wrestle _you_ , mate!"

"It's true," Nimbalo muttered gravely to Ricky. Then he added in a whisper, "An' I _only_ lose every now an' then just to keep from upsettin' 'im."

"Oh, Oy've seen this rivvah-dog's handiwork alright," Ricky chuckled. "Quite the black eye me sistah's nursin', mite."

Deyna felt his cheeks burn as his new opponent came near, though the remark had been meant as a compliment. "I didn't mean to hurt her, I only—"

"Oy, she's 'ad worse. Think the Nevahh's don't know how to box?"

"What? Whaddo you mean?" Nimbalo exclaimed, bouncing anxiously between the two otters as they sized one another up. "Did you spar with his sister earlier this morning, Deyna? How come I wasn't invited? Is she as big as he is?" Ricky chuckled and removed his hat, setting it over the head of the harvest mouse. On any other small beast, the curved sharkskin brim might have fallen down over their eyes — but to everyone's surprise (and Nimbalo's delight), his sizable ears fit the hat almost perfectly.

"Roundabouts, but let's hope that he's the better fighter," Deyna admitted with a mischievous grin. Blekker and Swash sniggered from where they stood on the outside of the ring, but Skipper crossed his arms sagely. "Careful what you say about Nevarrs, matey. If you truss up another 'un, you'll have the whole Thunder-holt descending on us next."

Ricky's eyes narrowed and he began to mirror the Taggerung's steps around the circle, footpaw for footpaw. "That's a lofty goal to aim for," he teased. But Deyna noticed that he wasn't the one trying to attack: he was also sizing up his opponent and waiting patiently. They stared into one another's eyes as all warriors do, reading intentions and strategies and preparing for the right moment to strike.

Round and round they stepped, almost so alike that it looked like a choreographed dance. Deyna could tell from Ricky's expression that he was growing impatient… perhaps most Nevarrs would already have charged by this point. Ricky certainly seemed the type to use such rash behavior to his advantage. But the strapping sea otter hadn't learned the same sort of long discipline and inner control that the Taggerung had: Deyna knew that Ricky would make the first move eventually. That is, if Nimbalo didn't end up diving into the ring himself; the little harvest mouse was dancing himself into a frenzy waiting to see his best friend snap into action. "What'cha waitin' for, Deyna? Box 'is ears! Come on, then! Do it!"

Ricky seemed to read in Deyna's eyes that the Warrior of Redwall would keep circling all day if need be… and patient or no, the eldest Nevarr had come out for a sparring match, so he went onto the offensive himself. Everyone could immediately sense the change in the air, for Ricky flattened back his ears and drew lower to the ground, baring his teeth until a low rumbling growl issued from the base of his throat. Deyna followed his gaze calmly; he could tell that the snarling, while unsettling at first, was merely Ricky's way of trying to intimidate him. It was certainly a sobering touch to the previously-jovial match. Skipper and his crew had all stopped smiling for the most part. Even Nimbalo grew still and his tail was quivering… though that might have been because he could sense that something was about to happen, too.

In the blink of an eye Ricky darted forward with his paws out, aiming to catch Deyna right in the stomach. Of course, the Taggerung was ready: Deyna stepped cleanly to one side out of Ricky's reach. He expecting the burly sea otter to go tumbling out of the wide circle, but to the Nevarr's credit he dug his claws deep into the ground and nimbly changed direction in a fraction of a moment. He dove at Deyna again, swiping with his paw and swinging with his rudder where he determined Deyna would likely be if he tried to dodge again. This time Deyna had to make a full leap and summersault over the sea otter's massive tail before it got the chance to knock the wind out of him, which he felt sure it could.

Ricky skidded to a halt at the far side of the ring and remained in a crouch, watching Deyna and panting quickly. His eyes were wide with shock. But Deyna's were, too. It had been a long time since he had come up against any creature quite so fast… and most creatures with speed weren't very weighty, so to find both in the eldest Nevarr was creating a particular challenge that, deep down, the Taggerung was actually starting to enjoy. He was sure that Ricky was rethinking his strategy now, and in the next bout there would likely be contact.

"Well," the sea otter breathed as he crept along the edge of the circle, mirrored by Deyna's movements. "Box me ears and call me a bandy — you're as fine a stream-dog as evvah learnt to spar."

"I taught 'im everything he knows," Nimbalo bragged from the sidelines with his arms crossed.

The Taggerung gave Ricky an admiring nod. "You're not so bad yourself, friend." Now, rather than charging or circling, the hefty sea otter started to creep forwards and close the space between them. Bit by bit, Deyna's escape routes grew smaller and smaller until they were nearly closed off. It was an admirable tactic; the Nevarr was forcing him to make the first move, or else risk being cornered against the circle's edge. The Redwall warrior met his eyes and stared without flinching, reading his opponent's intentions carefully while he dug his own claws into the soil and tensed his legs in preparation. Just before there was nowhere left for him to go, Deyna ducked to the right! As Ricky dove in that direction, the Taggerung planted one paw on the ground and spun back towards the left — narrowly slipping out of the sea otter's grip. However, the oldest Nevarr had fast learned to anticipate the Redwaller's feinting moves. Just as the abbey warrior grabbed Ricky's right arm, the hefty sea otter twisted about in mid-dive and planted a paw on Deyna's shoulder as he fell.

For a fraction of a second, the two were nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye: the Taggerung was being pulled downwards, and Ricky's shoulder-blades were about to hit the earth. In that moment, Deyna suddenly realized what his opponent was about to do, and he turned onto his side in mid-air. The Nevarr's brawny legs shot out just as he did so, shooting through the space where Deyna's stomach had just been! Instead, his footpaw just barely glanced the belt that was around the Redwall warrior's waist, and then Deyna met the ground on his side and rolled backwards with Ricky's arm still in a tight grip. For other beasts, it might have been a risky move; he was dragging the sea otter on top of himself, at least temporarily, and the oldest Nevarr was a notoriously weighty beast. However, in doing this he was also pulling the sea otter mainly by his right arm, beginning a twisting motion that would force Ricky to face outwards during the roll rather than inwards. Sure enough, the brawny sea otter kicked and writhed, but was dragged over Deyna in the roll until he had passed across the Redwaller, and then he had to fall forward onto his belly in the grass.

The Taggerung sprang onto Ricky's back and pinned his wrist there in a painful hold. However, the Nevarr's left arm whipped away before he could catch it. Ricky pushed himself off of the ground with one paw, giving a mighty roar as he lifted both himself and the Taggerung's full weight on a single arm. Then he started to turn and climb to his footpaws. A lesser opponent might have fallen off of his back, but Deyna was not beaten yet; he hooked a knee around Ricky's waist and swung with him, thwarting the sea otter's attempts to un-twist his arm. While they whirled about, the Taggerung planted his heel in the earth near Ricky's footpaws. As the Nevarr attempted his next step to keep spinning, Deyna's paw caught his ankle and yanked it out from beneath him. The two entangled otters crashed to the ground yet again. Deyna forced himself onto Ricky's back all over, finally pinning _both_ the sea otter's arms after catching the left one as it had stretched out to brace the fall.

The two beasts remained gulping for air for a moment. The oldest Nevarr stared to the side with his cheek in the dirt and panted in surprise. Deyna swallowed hard and caught his breath as he double-checked to be sure that he really had pinned his opponent and remained firmly seated on his back. Finally Ricky let out a loud gasp and let his rudder give a soft "WHUMP" upon the ground. "Oy give," he huffed. The warrior of Redwall was helping him up in a heartbeat, and the two otters shook paws heartily. "You're a fine warrior, mite."

"As are you. It's been a few seasons since I faced anyone your size."

"Yeah, you're lucky he's so rusty," Nimbalo sneered to Ricky as he pranced around the two of them and planted practice punches in Deyna's side. "Otherwise he'da beat'cha in half the time!"

"Oy, Rick!"

Skipper and his crew turned to see Tikky waving at them from the abbey entrance. "You'd bettah get a load o'this, mite! Redwall has more vittles than _Salamandastron_!"


	9. Chapter 8

After rinsing themselves off in the cool abbey pond, Deyna and the rest of the otters trotted in to breakfast. Ricky's face was a picture of wonder at the immense spread that graced the tables in Great Hall. There were steaming blackberry scones topped with meadowcream and damson preserves, savory pasties with melting yellow cheese oozing out of their middles, candied russet apple slices, whole salted almonds and chestnuts, creamy porridge filled with oats and wild honey, bubbling thick oatmeal which many of the otters were eagerly sprinkling with ground hotroot, and even the infamous Deeper'n Ever Turnip'n Tater'n Beetroot Pie, which the moles seemed to think was appropriate for any time of day. There was also a sizable platter of cabbage in front of the highly-miserable Boorab, who was munching on his breakfast in resigned silence and ignoring the questions and befuddled looks of his peers.

To Deyna's slight surprise when he entered, Great Hall was packed more than usual compared to the average breakfast. Most abbeybeasts tended to take their dishes wherever they liked in the mornings, sometimes eating on the wall-tops with their friends, or sprawling in the orchard for a shady picnic. However, the presence of the three strange travelers and their round drawling accents had drawn a sizable crowd. Some abbey-dwellers were more subtle with their interest than others, merely eating their breakfast within earshot of the three Nevarr siblings… but plenty of others, especially the boisterous Dillypins, were wedging themselves onto benches and straining to speak with the trio.

"I don't recall seein' you three come to Redwall yesterday. Whenever did you arrive?"

"Hurr, try'ee some Deeper'n Ever pie, zurr. It be a gurt start fur'ee day!"

"Where'ja come from, and why d'ya where them big silly hats?"

"Be sure to tell Friar Bobb which of these recipes is your favorite! Have you tried the cheese pasties yet? They were my idea!"

"What happened to your face, marm? That's quite a black eye there. And what's that poultice for?"

Tumbol was munching away at nearly every item on the table, keeping her ears flat as she tried to ignore the remarks about her appearance — particularly the chuckles about the cumbersome linen-and-dockleaf bandage that Sister Alkanet had ordered her to keep pasted on her jaw wound for the entire day. Fortunately, she still somehow looked the least intimidating of her siblings, and as a result the curious dibbuns were starting to flock over to her as soon as they each finished eating. A passel of mousebabes and Jurkin's niece Tingle were stroking or tugging at the great scruffy tail that swished out behind her, and one courageous little squirrel babe had even climbed on and was attempting to ride it. At first some of their parents looked mortified at this behavior and had started to scold them, but Tumbol quickly waved the adults away with a wild grin. Though she kept her back turned and ate without a word, she gently swept her rudder back and forth and chuckled whenever the dibbuns squealed and attempted to recapture it.

Beside their sister, Ricky and Tikky were tucking into anything that the abbeybeasts were recommending — even the Deeper'n Ever pie, which they praised enormously while their audience giggled at their strange accents. "Faw, that's a fine dish an' no mistake! You could fill a hare up wiv' it!"

"Perfect to start the day, just like you said, mite!"

Skipper of otters slid them each a bowl of oatmeal that had been generously covered in spicy red hotroot. "Hoho, take a sample o'this, mateys! That ought to put some curl in those rudders and a spring in yer step!" The brothers bolted it down without question — however, while Ricky licked his whiskers and continued to the next dish, Tikky's face suddenly flushed scarlet. He fanned his mouth desperately, then snatched up the nearest bottle of dandelion and burdock cordial and sucked it down, gulp after gulp. Many of the otters guffawed as Tikky emptied the bottle — which had been one of the larger vessels on the table. He glared at them while he panted and while his tongue hung uselessly out of the side of his mouth. "What sort o hellfire you tryin' to poison me wif, stream-dog?" he cursed irritably at Skipper. Several beasts gasped, and some attempted to cover the ears of nearby dibbuns.

Mhera, who had been watching the proceedings from the head of the table, opened her mouth to chide the scruffy sea otter… but Ricky had already caught his brother sternly by the ear with a grip of iron. "No language o'that sort here, Tik," he ordered flatly. "Mind yesself, an' apologize to these goodbeasts. Sharpish!"

Tikky gritted his teeth in pain, but for a fraction of a second he did pass some of his hosts a repentant glance — as if he'd forgotten that there were babes about. "Sorry, mites."

Mhera met Ricky's eyes across the table and mouthed the words, "Thank you," to him as the meal resumed.

"Hurr, that trinket be's moight purty, Mizz," Churrkin the molemaid remarked to Tumbol as she climbed onto the bench beside the young sea otter. She pointed a claw at the guest's smooth golden earring. "Why'd ee'brothurrs be wurrin' jewelry just like et?"

Tumbol chuckled and swept the inquiring dibbun into her lap, then tilted her head so that Churrkin could touch the twinkling ornament in question. "Why, 'tis the mark of a sailah-beast, liddle-un."

"Oy," Tikky chimed in. "We travel all ovah the seas, but iffin' our boat sinks an' our bodies— oof!" He wheezed as Tumbol elbowed him and knocked the air from his lungs.

"If our boat sinks," she told Churrkin with a pointed glance at her brother. "Then when we _swim_ ashore, we can give 'em to anybeast who'll help us. As payment."

Deyna could see Skipper and a few other otters within earshot covering their amused grins at Tumbol's change in the story to keep from frightening the dibbuns. Beside her Tikky, who was now nursing his wounded pride _and_ his wounded side, nodded sagely to Churrkin and the other babes who were staring at him and his sister in wonder. "Oy, every sea ottah in the Thundah-Holt has one o'these. Just in case."

At his inevitable mention of his heritage, a few of the otters who hadn't been at the morning's wrestling match looked up from their plates with expressions of awe and delight. "The Thunder-Holt, did'ja say?" one of them called over to Tikky in surprise. "What in the seasons brings you this far north, and in the middle of the night?"

"Nuffin' at all," Ricky laughed through a mouth full of crumbs. "Just explorin', really. We sleep durin' the day to avoid vermin, and go where we please."

"We 'eard about Redwall when we was at Salamandastron," Tumbol confirmed. "Nevahhs is always on the lookout for good vittles!"

There was an audible hush from the few otters around the table who hadn't heard about the night's events, but Skipper merely rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples at the family name that the visitors had brought up yet again. "Aye, you keep sayin' you're Nevarrs, mates, but forgive me if I honestly tell ya, I just don't see it!" There was a rumble of agreement from many beasts in his crew.

Deyna saw the hackles rise on all three siblings — Tumbol looked very close to bearing her teeth — but Mhera immediately stood to her footpaws and they remembered themselves in her presence. "There's no need to debate anyone's heritage here," she began calmly.

But Nimbalo waved his paw wildly for her attention. "Say, what's a Nevarr, any'ow? Why all the fuss about it?" Many of the abbeybeasts chimed in with him.

Down the table, Boorab looked practically delighted to be distracted from his pannier of raw cabbage. He snapped his claws at Skipper eagerly. "I say, ol' bean! Sing the jolly old Ballad of the Five Brothers! That ought to straighten out the confusion, wot! I'll even throw in a little accompaniment!" He paused abruptly and dealt Mhera a sweeping bow, so low that his long ears brushed the sandstone floor. "Th'tis, if the ever-so-wise mother abbess permits it! Wouldn't dream of interrupting her if she'd prefer to give the orders 'round here! Bad form, don'cha know."

"Hmm, that song may be the fastest way to explain things to anyone who isn't an otter here," Mhera agreed after a moment of thought. She gave Boorab a nod and a bright smile that made the hare's plain breakfast suddenly melt into the back of his mind entirely.


	10. Chapter 9

While the abbey's head musician bolted off to fetch his instrument, many Redwallers pushed away their plates and let out contented sighs of delight. Skipper and nearly every otter in Great Hall stood and made their way to the open floor. Since he himself wasn't familiar with the ballad that was about to be sung, Deyna instead helped to lay out the benches in neat rows for the abbeybeasts so they could watch the performance. The Nevarrs joined him, flocked by babes with swollen bellies and large smiles who in some cases were hopelessly smeared with damson jam from nosetip to tail-tip.

Just as everyone started to sit down, Boorab the Fool trotted in with his haredee-gurdee strapped on. It had been some time since he had brought out the infamous instrument, and as he waddled over to Skipper it jingled and whumped so comically that all of the dibbuns (and plenty of the adult Dillypins) fell to the floor in delighted laughter. As the haredee-gurdee wheezed into action, Deyna couldn't help but notice that the Nevarrs were shaking with silent mirth as well. However, while Ricky and Tumbol were managing to clamp their muzzles shut at the ridiculous clacking and wheezing, Tikky had to stick his nose into a bowl of porridge to dampen his giggles.

Skipper clapped his paws in time with the music and signaled his crew to join in. Soon nearly all the Redwall otters, even Deyna's mother Filorn, were singing an uproarious shanty together with Skipper's voice in the lead.

"Oh, listen to the tale of the brothers of Nevarr  
And the lands they've torn asunder:  
They've earned their right to their title by far,  
For they're called the Sons of Thunder!

Well first in line came Jaunny  
Who could best a hare in hunger,  
And he's the oldest of the lot  
That we call the Sons of Thunder.

When 'e was born, they say the land  
Let out a mighty shudder  
Each step 'e took, the mountains shook  
And trees fell by his rudder, oh!  
Great trees fell by his rudder!

He went to Salamandastron  
Sent off by his dear mother  
He cleaned those hares out of their wares:  
Ate all their scones and butter, oh!  
He ate their scones and butter!

Well after Jaun came Jimmy  
And young Jimmy proved the stronger:  
For no live beasts 'cept badger lords  
Could best the Sons of Thunder.

Jim wrestled with an octopus  
Eight paws against his four  
He tied that tosser up in knots  
And threw him on the shore, oh!  
He threw him on the shore!

Jim wrestled every beast he met  
And never lost before  
But didn't dare to touch a hair  
Of Lady Cregga of lore, oh!  
The rose-eyed badger of lore!

And then came Danny, so far south  
They say he lives down under  
And of the five, 'e grew the most  
Of all the Sons of Thunder.

When Dan was just three seasons old  
He met with twenty stoats:  
He fought 'em all, but grew so tall  
Their skins made him one coat, oh!  
Their skins made just one coat!

But Dan don't go to sea no more  
Except by raft or boat,  
'Cause all 'e ate increased his weight  
And now he cannot float, oh!  
Poor Danny cannot float!

Then after Dan came Joey  
Who could never make a blunder,  
And every battle fought, he won—  
'Cept with other Sons of Thunder!

Young Joey learned to box the ears  
Off every livin' Roo  
They taught him first, but now they're worst,  
Though boxing's what they do, oh!  
Yes, boxing's what they do!

Poor Joey boxed the best of beasts  
'Til earth was boxed clean through  
But all 'e done was still no fun  
'Cause his brothers could box him, too, oh!  
His brothers boxed 'im, too!

And then comes Micah, last of all  
But just because he's younger,  
Don't think that he ain't worth his salt  
Among the Sons of Thunder.

'Cause Micah-Jack fought with a shark  
The length o' seven pikes:  
He lost his leg, but not his head,  
And Sharky lost his life, oh!  
The shark, 'e lost his life!

Young Micah-Jack has got no girl  
And says he wants no tether  
He sails the seas, does as he pleases,  
On the waves forever, oh!  
He'll ride them waves forever!

Thus ends the tale of the brothers of Nev—"

But the three guests, having almost gotten ahold of Tikky's snorting before the last verse, suddenly burst out howling and laughing afresh amid Skipper's hearty singing. The otter leader actually stopped to glare at them and an uneasy silence fell, but the trio seemed immune to anything but their current hilarity.

The twin brothers had rolled off the benches and were kicking about on the tiled floor, and Tumbol was pounding her paws on the table and rattling the silver loudly. When she finally caught the looks they were getting, and she stifled her giggles and tried to to rub the tears out of her eyes… but her brothers didn't seem to mind the stares of the dumbstruck abbeybeasts.

"Oy, who taught you that? Your grandfathah?" Tikky whooped while he clutched his chest to try and calm down. "Oy ain't 'eard that version since Oy was a li'l pup!"

Tumbol clutched her ribs and panted while she sent Skipper an amiable wink with her one good eye. "Y'ain't been down south for a while, Oy'd wagah," she chuckled.

The head otter of Redwall raised a skeptical eyebrow back. "A fair bit, I have."

"Did'ja go to the last Hullabaloo? Just last summah?"

"Aye," Skipper growled challengingly. But then he glanced over at Filorn, Mhera, and Deyna sitting together, and his temper deflated slightly. "…we did have to leave partway through, though."

"Then you missed us. Took us a bit long to get there, but we came up for the end of it. A'fore that, the Nevvahs ain't been up north since the song changed. So you don't know what happened to ol' Miggajack!"

The ears of every otter in the hall were immediately pricked and their eyes wide. Even the other abbeybeasts looked on the verge of leaping off their benches in excitement.

"Did he fight another shark?"

"Sail off the edge of the world?"

"Burr, did'm eat n'entire whalefish?"

"Fight a badger— ?"

"Enough," Mhera barked standing to her feet. The hall went quiet. The abbess looked down at the sea otters. Ricky and Tumbol quickly returned to their seats and clasped their paws like scolded dibbuns. Only Tikky looked unbothered. Mhera nodded down at the visitors before sinking back into her seat. "Tell us what happened to him," she allowed.

It was Tumbol that stood up, grinning from ear to ear and displaying her sharp teeth. "One bettah," she announced proudly. Then she gave Boorab a sharp salute. "Mind if we take the stage, mite?"

The hare hesitated only for a moment before returning her salute and following it up with a graceful bow. At least, it would have been graceful if he hadn't tripped over his haredee-gurdy and collapsed into a clinking heap as he was wont to do..

Tumbol slammed her rudder on a nearby bench with a loud "THWACK," that made every beast jump, then clapped her paws twice in time with the song that Skipper had been singing. Ricky joined in and took two forks to the table with a high-pitched "RATTA-TAT-TAT." "Song's long-changed since we was cubs," he admitted to Skipper over the steady beat. "I suppose it ain't reached this fah north yet. Our fathah's verse ain't what it used to be."

"Your father?" Skip repeated bluntly. "Surely you're not suggesting that he was one of the five brothers! In fact, I'd wager you're too young to be anything but grandchildren of the Nevarrs at _least_. Joey was the youngest to get married, and he's over fifty seasons old now."

"Fifty-nine," Tumbol corrected him smugly. "But we ain't some old gran-pups, mite: we're second-generation to them Thundah-Lads."

"And we ain't Joey's, neithah," Tikky added sharply. "Allow me, mites." He suddenly leapt onto the center table amidst the platters of blackberry scones and Deeper'n Ever pie. It was a wonder his rudder or hind paws didn't land in any of the dishes every time he stomped to the beat or whirled about to face the different sections of the audience, but he didn't, and they were all captivated in the blink of an eye. His voice was deep and throaty and quite unlike most singing the abbeybeasts were accustomed to, but it had its own husky charm. The song seemed to cater to his wide vowels and slanted slang.

"You've 'eard the tale of the brothahs of Nevahh  
And the lands they've torn asundah:  
They've earned their right to their title by fah,  
For they're called the Sons of Thundah!

You've 'eard of Jaunny, Jim and Dan  
You've 'eard of Joey, too  
But ain't you 'eard that Miggajack  
Ain't sailin' like you knew, oh!  
'e ain't the dog you knew!

Ol' Migg, he's gone and left the coast,  
Gave up the sea for life,  
'Cuz 'e fell for a lubber's gell,  
And she became 'is wife, oh!  
She did become 'is wife!

She came from Noonvale, pale as pearl  
'er name was Lily Downs  
An' all the world ain't got no girl  
As Miggajack's got now, oh!  
The lady he's got now!

Thus ends the tale of the brothahs of Nevahh  
An' mite, it's little wondah  
'ow rivvah-dogs both near and fah  
'ave 'eard of the Sons of Thundah!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Most _Redwall_ fans know that Brian Jacques based many of the characters in his books off of people he knew. The Guosim resemble the Liverpool longshoreman's union; Arula the molemaid and Samkim the squirrel earned their names from dedicated fans; and many of us now read about Gonff the mousethief with a bit of a tear in our eyes because he was Jacque's personal O.C.

I couldn't help but carry on the tradition here. **The Nevarrs are based on an actual family of five wild brothers that I know.** They grew up on the seaside, and the youngest really did give up his life on the coast for an inland lady: he even sold his surfboard to pay for the wedding ring. If that's not worth a ballad in _Redwall_ , then I don't know what is!

Another fun fact about this story is that I actually came up with the idea to call the brothers "Sons of Thunder" before even realizing that I would get to call their clan the "Thunder-Holt," (as opposed to 'thunder-bolt.' Hooray for unexpected wordplay!).

(Also, I don't remember if I originally had a tune in mind, but turns out _Gilligan's Island_ works pretty well with the ballad… Bet'cha you're going to go back and read it again now with the song playing in your head…)


	11. Chapter 10

All three of the Nevarrs slammed their rudders came down on the table with one final "WHAM," like a thunderclap, and the great hall fell into a deafening silence.

After a moment, one of the youngest dibbuns - a scruffy mole naught but a season old - giggled in utter delight and started to clap its pudgy claws together. As if that were the signal, the crowd of abbey-beasts exploded into an uproar of applause and whistles.

Skipper's mouth was hanging open, and the expression was one of such comic disbelief that it looked as if his own mother had turned out to be a weasel. "Micah-Jack," he whispered, still only barely believing it. "One of _the_ five Nevarr brothers… _abandoned_ the sea?"

"Fallen ferra freshwater streamdog," Ricky bragged.

"And you're lookin' at proof," Tikky declared, crossing his arms smugly. "We're fifty pah-cent Migg himself."

Deyna could not help but smile at their audacity. The visiting sea otters swaggered under their family name, as if it was a shield of immunity that protected them at all times. The Redwall wasn't sure if he believed them, and he wasn't the only beast, either. Several of Skipper's crew shook their heads in disbelief and murmured to one another uneasily. Blekker even stepped forward with an angry growl at the visitor's cheek. "I've met many a young sea otter claiming special privileges by the name Nevarr. Anybeast with a rudder thinks they can get away with it… but I've never met any stupid enough to try and claim Micah's title."

"Aye, whaddo you think we are, country bumpkins?"

"We know our lore and you can't just march in—"

"That's enough," Ricky and Mhera barked at the same moment. They both had risen to their footpaws, but Ricky immediately bowed and gave the Abbess the floor with a respectful tug of his ear. Mhera eyed Blekker disapprovingly… though she felt strange for doing so, since the otter was technically her elder. Her job had been almost nothing but one of stern correction ever since the three sea otters had arrived in the abbey. "There is no special treatment to be had here for any visitors, be they beggars or Badger lords. Redwall is welcome to anyone and everyone."

Ricky cleared his throat: with a nod from Mhera, he spoke. "We come undah the name Nevahh, cuz that's what we ah," he explained with his head bowed humbly. "Cuz it means peace, from our family to yours. Not 'cuz we wanna take anyfin' from ya. We seen our fair share of ottahs claimin' to be part o'the Thundah-Holt." He pulled a small loop of twine from around his neck. "If you don't trust us, mites, then trust this." He held it up for all to see, displaying a white triangular pendant on the end of the string. Deyna peered at it for a moment, then realized it was the ridged tooth of a large fish. He had a feeling he knew which one.

"An' if you still don't," Tikky suggested with a grin. "Then just come visit our home sometime. Papa'll thrash you wif 'is wooden leg."

That finally got a few giggles from the crowd, and Deyna felt everyone start to relax again. However, to his slight horror, Nimbalo was unwilling to let the three guests take all bragging rights for the day: the impudent harvest mouse leapt atop one of the benches and jabbed a thumb towards the Redwall Warrior at his side. "You Nevarrs may come from an impressive bloodline, sure," he barked. "But bet'cha never faced the Taggerung when he's _hungry!_ "

Many of the beasts in Great Hall let out confused grunts, and Deyna buried his face in his paws and groaned. "Oh, _no_ , Nimbalo, don't make me do that silly trick." He looked pleadingly to the eldest of the sea otters and held his arms wide in search of sympathy. "Ricky's already sparred with me: there's nothing more for them to see!"

But the impetuous mouse was not the only one to have taken a liking to the idea. "Aye," growled Skipper smugly. He was one of the few other beasts in the chamber who knew what Nimbalo was suggesting. "I'd like to see a Nevarr try to pull that stunt, so I would! 'Tis worthy of a verse in the ballad of the Five Brothers itself."

"Aye," Blekker called out fiercely, which only made the Taggerung blush all the more. "Show 'em, Deyna!"

"Whip their tails into shape, matey," Jurkin hollered.

It did not take long for the enthusiasm of the few conspirators to infect the rest of the audience, and eventually the rest of the abbeybeasts cheered and hollered for their warrior until he reluctantly stood and trudged to the center of the performing area. "My friends," Nimbalo announced, having temporarily taken over the role of host while Boorab was busy untangling himself from the haredee-gurdy. "Our Deyna is known in some circles the _Taggerung_ — the deadliest warrior alive!" The Dillypins whooped excitedly, and a few of Skipper's otters (particularly those who seemed to resent the arrogant Nevarrs) let out howls and growls of agreement. "But even more perilous is this beast if you should ever meet him when his stomach is empty!" The harvest mouse tossed his pal a bright red russet apple, which the Redwall Warrior caught in one paw without even turning his head to see the missile properly as it was thrown to him.

"I'll need an opponent," Deyna sighed as he rolled the scarlet fruit around inside his claws. He glanced over at the trio of sea otter siblings, who immediately turned to stare at one another. Tumbol looked stunned, and Ricky immediately held up his paws in surrender; the memory of the morning's sparring match was still fresh on his mind.

Fortunately, Tikky needed no further permission than their hesitation; he sprang to his feet like a firecracker and shot the Taggerung a toothy grin. "So, you're gonna eat that fing while we wrestle wiv' bare paws, eh, Tugger-ring?"

"Oh, you won't be bare-pawed," Deyna admitted with a small smile inching onto his face. The adrenaline and euphoria of what was about to happen was seeping into his features and pounding though his veins. He gestured to Skipper, who selected a sizable ridged knife from where it had been used during the meal to carve up a solid crusty barley loaf. There were several gasps as the head of the otter crew handed this blade to Tikky. Deyna caught the ashen look on his sister's face and immediately bowed his head. "We don't need to do this. It's far too dangerous."

All eyes turned to the abbess. She bit her lip at the eager faces that stared pleadingly at her, especially Skipper's, whose shoulders slumped as if this were a perfectly harmless performance. Mhera's gaze fell back on her younger brother, and she spoke in a murmur that was more hoarse than she had meant it to be. "Dangerous why?"

"Well, 'e might get cut," Tikky admitted—

"No," Deyna cut him off. "I won't." The Nevarr glared at him with a mixture of disapproval and awe. But Redwall's head warrior was focused only on the concern of his older sister. "This may be a practice drill, but I don't want to frighten anybeast," he explained. "…or give the dibbuns any ideas."

This of course caused the abbey babes to immediately start up a cheer, insisting that they be shown whatever unhealthy spectacle the Taggerung could possibly contrive. Mhera shut her eyes tight and sighed. "I want nobeast mimicking what they're about to see, is that clear?" she ordered in a loud, firm voice. "Deyna has trained for his entire life in order to perform this way. No one else, not even Skipper of Otters, can dare do this or ought to try." She received a surprised look from the otter chieftain, but then he shrugged in agreement and took his seat. The rest of his crew and the other audience members followed suite, until only Tikky and the Taggerung remained standing. Over by where Boorab had climbed out of the haredee-gurdy, Nimbalo knelt by one of the larger drums in the contraption and started to tap a simple beat with his claws. "Ba-bump-bum. Ba-bump-bum. Ba-bump-bum."

The sound echoed within Great Hall like the call of a war drum, and made the fur on many necks stand on edge. Deyna waved Tikky forward and flung his arms wide, welcoming an attack. The fiery Nevarr edged closer, spun the carving knife experimentally in his paw, then thrust it at the Taggerung's chest. Several of the watchers drew in sharp breaths as their warrior bent his back into an arch that the blade shot over: with the same motion, he batted the knife aside with the paw that clutched the apple, then spun away. The two otters landed on opposite sides of their invisible ring again, each calculating their next move. Tikky didn't charge headlong this time: instead he strode forward with bold, even steps and swung the weapon again. Deyna knocked the Nevarr's forearm back with an elbow and blocked the blade itself with the apple again. Tikky's right paw immediately swung around and stabbed downward, but the Taggerung thrust his own arms into the mix and spun again, redirecting the knife's momentum and twirling wildly with every maneuver. Sometimes he and Tikky were face-to-face. Other times they were ducking blows, twisting one another over… Deyna even shot into flips whenever the blade slashed out low for his waist or legs, and the audience would gasp as his body rolled skillfully in mid-air. Always his paws seemed just too close to the carving knife to have passed unscathed… and yet there was no grunt of pain, no drop of blood, not even a mark on his knuckles despite how often many of the watchers swore they could hear the whistle of the blade and the "SHHHHK," of something being sliced through.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over: Deyna straightened up from his intricate weaving choreography and dealt Tikky three lighting-fast blows that caught the Nevarr by surprise and loosened his grip on the weapon's handle just enough for it to be snatched out of his grasp. The Taggerung stood with the carving knife in one paw, and the apple in the other. Tikky stared at him: disarmed, stunned, and thoroughly disgruntled. "Oy, you didn't eat it."

"Oh, I don't like my russet apples whole." The Redwall warrior shrugged. "I like to have them cut first." And with that, he opened his claws and let the seemingly-whole fruit collapse from its original shape, now divided into twelve equally-perfect sections. The abbeybeasts took one look at the slices and erupted into a chorus of shrieks and cheers — and the dibbuns especially became the loudest when Deyna tossed the apple pieces into their laps with a wink. Tikky looked as if he had just sat on a hornet's nest, and behind him Tumbol's face had turned completely ashen.

Ricky, however, was laughing uproariously and clapping his paws at the impressive stunt with the rest of the Taggerung's admirers. "Oy ain't nevvah seen bettah'n that, on me life," he howled.

Noticing that the other Nevarr brother was not taking the shock nearly as well, Deyna wiped a paw on his brow and patted Tikky firmly on the shoulder. "I nearly thought you had me there a few times, mate. I do believe the fur on my knuckles has been shaved a bit shorter now — take a look!" This finally earned a faint chuckle from his fellow otter, and soon the two of them were slapping one another on the back and shaking paws.

Amidst the cheering and shouts for an encore that were still resounding throughout the chamber, Deyna flopped down on the bench with the Nevarrs and held up his paws in refusal. Beside him, Tikky was still panting heavily, and he fished a ragged kerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. "By the seasons," he huffed. "No one at home will believe that—"

He and all the other beasts in Great Hall fell silent at the sudden horrifying sound of a single, agonized wail. Gundil, who had been applauding the performance mere moments earlier, pointed at the scrap of cloth in the sea otter's paw while his black eyes filled with tears. "Oooh, me! T'is Fer-mole Brull's hanky-chief, urr oy'm a bloomin' bumblybee!"

All eyes turned to the crumpled fabric hanging from Tikky's frozen claws. The usually-jovial sea otter looked shocked as the other moles in the chamber started to nod and point in agreement. "Burr, aye, so 'tis!"

"Oy'd know et anywhurrs!"

"Tikky," Deyna started carefully. He held out an open paw, and the young Nevarr obediently set the handkerchief in it without question. The Redwall warrior examined the faint grey cloth. It was stiff and a bit soiled, but still fairly clean — as if it had been muddied, then rinsed by a rainstorm or two. He recognized the bright yellow embroidery along the edges; Brull had loved the buttery color, and had often requested extra needlework with it in her clothing and blankets. "Where did you get this?"

"It was hangin' on a gorse bush twixt here an' the Great South Stream," the sea otter replied, almost demure under the sad expressions that had come over the faces of every creature in Great Hall. "Wasn't no tracks by it… Why?"

"Did somebeast o'yours go missin' down there, Deyna?" Tumbol asked immediately. She and Ricky both seemed to have pieced together the situation in a matter of moments.

Skipper had risen to his footpaws, his face altogether grim. "There's no way Brull went that far — not on her own, at least."

Deyna swallowed eagerly and passed the kerchief to Gundil and the moles. "Tikky, is there any chance you could find that bush again?"

The sea otter was already upright, donning his hat in an instant. "You bet, mite."


	12. Chapter 11

The mood inside the abbey had drastically changed within a single hour. Creatures went bustling about with their faces drawn, some downcast and others fiery with determination. Broggle and Friar Bobb had the kitchens in a frenzy, kneading fresh pasties and scones while the bread that had originally been meant for lunch was now being bundled into packs. Skipper remained in Great Hall, trying to control the wild crowd of volunteers that all wanted to join the renewed search for their missing Foremole. Even the insistent Dillypins had to be subdued from taking part. "Bringin' more than a handful o'beasts would be a recipe for another lost abbey-dweller," the lead otter lectured them in as stern a voice as he dared without upsetting them. "We're goin' almost a day's walk away from Redwall, and we can't take along any creature who can't fend for themselves in the woodlands."

Most of the moles whimpered and turned away at this news. Unfortunately, Nimbalo and most of the Dillypins were still pressing hard around Skipper. He looked over them all and shook his head. "And we'd better only bring those who know Brull and could recognize 'er."

"That's fair enough, mate," Jurkin barked near the front of his tribe as they departed in disappointment. "But them Nevarrs don't know your Foremole, any more'n we do. If they're guidin' yeh, you could use my 'elp, too. I know the riverbanks backwards and forwards. I'm comin' along, and just you try to stop me. You're not the only ones to lose a friend out there, ya know."

"Aye, an' you ain't leavin' behind Nimbalo the Slayer," the infamous harvest mouse snarled with his paws clenched. "I knew Brull, _and_ I know those woodlands. Where my matey Deyna goes, I go!"

Boorab applauded his partner in crime. "Here here, old scout! The same goes for me as well! Call of duty and all that, wot!"

Off to the side, Deyna stood with his back to the crowd and his eyes trained on the tapestry of Martin the Warrior; his mind was so far off that he didn't hear a word of what was passing. He stared at the legendary mouse's face, as if searching for some sign or some clue about what might be waiting for him out in the woodlands. Martin remained as he ever was: stoic and confident, protecting the peaceful creatures behind him and driving away the warlike vermin before him.

"Bet there's a story behind that fella," Ricky's voice broke through his reverie. Deyna glanced over and saw the three Nevarrs standing ready by his side, each having regained their weapons from where Sister Alkanet had stored them the night before. Their honey-brown eyes were all locked on the tapestry, and the Taggerung was pleased to see that even they instinctively knew to respect the warrior mouse despite their usual rowdy personalities.

"Martin the Warrior was the founder of our abbey, longer ago than any creature can recall," Deyna murmured as he glanced back up at the mouse legend's likeness. "His spirit guides us, and he chooses which creatures are to lead or to protect Redwall, and wield his sword." Now the eyes of the sea otters fell on the shining blade and its scarlet pommel stone. It sat above the tapestry… waiting. "I was far away from here once, but I kept dreaming about him. Martin was the one who guided me back."

Tikky let out a low whistle. Tumbol, who seemed to remember her sneers about the blade on the previous night, was eyeing the weapon with a new respect when Deyna reached up and took it down. "Oy nevvah seen ought like it."

"It was forged by a badger lord of Salamandastron, with the metal from a fallen star," the Taggerung recited. "The hilt belonged to Martin's father. It's never fought a losing battle."

The otter maiden glanced at the crestfallen faces of the creatures that Skipper had turned away, then leaned in closer to Deyna with a solemn look on her face. "Good thing you're bringin' it, then," she told him.

* * *

The searchers set out from Redwall Abbey less than two hours after breakfast, with enough provisions to last the two-day hike that it would take to reach (and return from) the place where Tikky had found the handkerchief. Everybeast present bore a mixture of hope and despair on their faces, because the appearance of that clue after so long gave them new eagerness to find Brull… but they also knew that the renewed scouring of Mossflower might reveal no clues at all. Or worse, they might uncover news that their dear Foremole had met some horrible, untimely end.

Even the Nevarrs had sobered up considerably — or at least, Tumbol had. Her brothers alternated between perfectly grave countenances when Brull was discussed, then when the subject shifted they would still find occasion to tease and elbow one another as they all marched along the path. As they went, Deyna the Redwallers heard multiple stories about the famed sea otter bloodline: mostly about one-legged Micah-Jack and his six children, and sometimes about the family's many voyages to Salamandastron. There was apparently some sort of alliance between the Badger Lords and the Sons of Thunder that had sprung up just in the last few generations.

The trio of siblings talked so much, in fact, that the Taggerung was somewhat surprised that they weren't in the least bit breathless even after hours of walking. Even most of the _Dillypins_ , let alone the abbeybeasts, could barely get a word in edgewise… except Nimbalo, who had barely removed Ricky's wide-brimmed hat from his broad ears all morning. He had taken to the Nevarr brothers like a fish to water, and sat up on Deyna's shoulder so as to meet them eye to eye and bare his teeth fiercely. "Haharr, mites," he drawled in a passing imitation of their southern accents. "T'ain't long to the banks o'the Great South Stream now. Oy suggest we split into four search parties when we get there, one for each point o'the compass."

Skipper of otters played along, un-bothered with the young rascal's attempt to take charge. His expectations of the day were grim, and he welcomed anything to lighten the mood as they went. "Aye, Nimbalo's got the idea. Took the words straight outta my mouth. We'll need a team searching westward near the flatlands, north and east in the woodlands, and south past the ford, between the path and the river fork."

"And a runner keeping tabs on all four groups I daresay, laddie buck," Boorab barked with a smart salute to the old riverdog. "Light as a feather on me bloomin' footpaws, or may the name of the Baggscutts rot on a rubbish heap!"

"Careful, mite; last time you made a promise, you wound up with a plate o'cabbage for brekkist," Tumbol chuckled. The touchy hare shot her a reproving glance and adjusted the haversack he was touting (which was crammed so full of cabbages that a few heads were threatening to pop out at any moment. "And I'm already feeling all the better for it, don'cha know. Lean muscle and all that. Hmph!"

Deyna smiled and patted Boorab on the shoulder encouragingly. "Aye, you should have seen him at the start of Spring when we first started searching," he bragged loudly to the Nevarrs. "He outran me the whole way like lightening."

"Gettin' back to the point, if you don't mind, pals," Jurkin admitted with a touch of gravity in his features. "Which team is goin' where? And who's leading them?"

"Well, if you've no objections, Master Dillypin, you'll be in charge of one," Skipper replied without missing a beat. "Each party needs a beast who knows these woodlands, back and front. I figure Deyna will lead whichever team heads south across the river — a team of mostly otters, since they'll need to manage the swim."

"Now hang on a tick," Nimbalo exclaimed, forgetting to maintain his Nevarr accent as he clutched the Taggerung's shoulder fiercely. "Where Deyna goes, I go! Riverdog or not!"

Deyna smiled sympathetically. He appreciated the harvest mouse's loyalty, but he also knew that Nimbalo was deathly afraid of drowning. Even though the river was not a violent one, it was swollen with the last of spring rains and hadn't yet started to shrink since summer was only just beginning. Fortunately, Skipper was already well-ahead. "But I was hopin' you'd help to lead the eastern team, matey! If you know Mossflower Wood half as well as you say, they'll certainly need ye."

Nimbalo swelled at the otter's praise. "I suppose I'll have to, then, won't I?" he snipped airily, pulling Ricky's hat off his head and returning it to the eldest Nevarr. "Can't have you beasts getting lost out there, can we?"

"Which otters are goin' with Deyna?" Blekker called out. The Taggerung's cheeks flushed crimson, and he quickly busied himself in examining the hilt of his sword for dirt smudges.

"The way I see it, we've got safety to think about as well," Skipper admitted. "We'll need seasoned fighters in all four groups, as well as creatures that will know Brull if she's about. Blekker, you an' Swash will head west under Jurkin's direction and help him recognize our Foremole. Tirk, you and Maran will keep Nimbalo's group outta trouble iffin' there are any vermin about…"

Deyna almost felt guilty for feeling relieved, especially because he heard the she-otter's angry 'huff' at the arrangement. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he barely even listened to the rest of the plans as the rest of the Redwall otter crew was split up between the search parties… then suddenly Tikky's paw came down on his back like a stone block. The Taggerung was too strong to be winded, but the impact did make him whip his head around so quickly that he nearly sent Nimbalo spinning off his shoulder. "How'zat for fun, eh mite? Just you an' us Nevvahs, all cozy as Roos in a pouch!"

And suddenly Deyna wasn't sure whether being stuck with Blekker would have been better or worse.

* * *

They came upon the gorse bush just under an hour later, a few yards away from the path before the woodlands started to thicken. Skipper was either suspicious or impressed with the Nevarrs. "You mean to tell me, you spotted that kerchief hangin' here all this way from the path, and in the middle of the night?"

"Nah, we wasn't on the path," Tumbol explained. "We keep inside the treeline when we can help it; vermin can't spot us as easy that way. Tik nearly tore his kilt on the bush, tha'sall."

"Oy," Tikky hissed, winding his sister with an elbow to the stomach. "You didn't have to mention _that_."

"What do you think, Deyna?" Skipper murmured. The Redwall warrior was already circling the patch of ground in search of tracks: his face swooped over the forest floor so closely that he took extra care to keep his breathing steady; if he inhaled too sharply he might get a nose-full of dirt. "Other than the old marks from our three guests," he admitted, pointing to a few faint claw-scratches that still remained from the Nevarrs' midnight trek. "There's no clear trail to follow. And even if there was one, it would still be too recent. There have been at least half a dozen rainstorms since the night we lost Brull, so there's no telling how many sets of tracks have been made and washed away around here. I'm afraid splitting up is probably our best option."

"Right, then," Skipper growled. "Boorab, you stick with Deyna and the Nevarrs until they hit the stream and have to cross it: then head east after Nimbalo's party, and start making' yer rounds."

"Top hole, sah! You'll see me in next to no time; I'll be zippin' through the trees faster than a hawk, wot wot!"

"Anybeast to find Brull — or _any_ missin' creature, for that matter — let out a holler like yer tail's been chopped off," Jurkin barked as the four parties started to edge their separate ways.

"Keep each other safe, and be on the lookout for vermin," Skipper added.

"And don't go muddying your footpaws or soiling your habits," Nimbalo called in a passing imitation of Sister Alkanet's shrill voice. "Relax, you ol' grand-dads! We'll see you in a day or two, right back here — and with Brull leading our charge back, because _we're_ the ones that are going to find her!"

"Oh no you won't, mite," Tikky called back. "Because if she was goin' south from the abbey all this time, then _we're_ going to find 'er."

"And likely frighten her off with those atrocious manners of yours, haw haw haw, wot wot!" Boorab guffawed.


	13. Chapter 12

"Ahoooy, Foremole Brull!"

"Halloooo, Nibbit Dillypin!"

"Anybeast out there? Oy! Oy! Oy!"

The combined Nevarrs made a decent racket all the way south to the ford before splitting ways with Boorab, and after the crossing they roved the woodlands with the Taggerung and called for Brull without a sign of tiring. The four otters had already fallen into a system, where each one of them would give a holler while the others caught their breath. The method might not have worked for soft-spoken abbeybeasts, but the deep, hard voices of the Nevarrs were strong enough to echo through Mossflower individually — even Tumbol's. Deyna didn't doubt that growing up in a massive family had taught them to have strong voices. And as for him, his childhood amongst the Juskarath had given him massive lungs and a commanding shout (which he had usually only used to frighten his enemies, rather than fighting with them).

"Brulla-Brulla-Brulla-Brull!"

"Hallooooo out there!"

"Foremole Br—"

Tumbol blanched as Deyna suddenly whipped a paw over her mouth, and her voice died immediately… more from mere surprise than from obedience, he had a feeling. But that didn't matter. The Taggerung stood rooted to the spot, both arms extended out as if to block his companions from stepping further, and the three of them had complied. They all stared at him intently, but his eyes never wavered from the ground up ahead: a bare patch of soil amongst the roots, which had been brushed into the faintest of ridges.

Deyna pointed at the trail and moved his claw to the side, up and down, following the indent that moved through the soil and had furrowed itself over patches of grass and fallen leaves. It was shallow, but wide as a tree trunk, and his blood ran cold at the sight of it. "A snake," he whispered to the sea otters. "And a big one, at that."

Ricky let out a soft exhale, as if he wanted to whistle but didn't dare. "Blimey. Get a lot o'those in Mossflowah, by any chance?"

The Redwall warrior shook his head grimly. "Not for an age." He edged closer to the tracks and knelt to sniff them, glancing at his companions as he did so. The three of them were stiff as he was, with their fur standing on end. "This is barely an hour old," Deyna murmured as he looked over the serpent's belly-marks. "And I'll bet you anything, it could hear us shouting just now."

Tumbol swallowed visibly. "So whaddo we do? The rest o' the groups bettah know about this."

"Oy," Ricky agreed. "But Oy ain't sendin' one of you off alone wiv' this thing out there. And even in pairs… our chances ain't good."

"And the last thing we want is to lead it towards our friends, _and_ the abbey," Deyna growled in frustration. His eyes were darting to every shadow in the underbrush, searching for movement. His blood was starting to pound in his ears, and his hackles rose at every breath of wind.

Tikky twirled his hatchet uneasily and confirmed what they all were thinking. "So we go aftah it, then. Eithah stop it, or figure out we're up against."

"We can trap it," Ricky agreed, gesturing to himself and his brother. "We'll keep its attention while you sneak up wiv'vat toothpick o'yourn, Deyna."

"Shhh," the Taggerung hissed again. He crouched with his ears pricked and his eyes shut. Beside him, he heard the breathing of the Nevarrs go quiet; they were listening, too. He soaked in the vibrations from the paw that he kept planted firmly in the earth. Birds were singing their evening songs to the southwest… but their warbling in the east had fallen silent. And Deyna knew it was not from nightfall. He reached out and pointed a single claw in that direction. "It's not far now," he murmured. "Probably an adder, if I had to guess."

"We'll lead it on,' Tikky murmured. "You two get outta sight until it passes."

The Redwall warrior shook his head uneasily. "There's no telling where we should hide; it could be circling around, for all we know. We would have to know exactly where it's coming from."

"Just trust us, mite. Stick close to Tumbol; she'll find a good spot."

Deyna's ears flattened in apprehension; he expected Tumbol to protest at being ordered to retreat rather than fight. But the she-otter slung her quarterstaff over her shoulder and glanced at their surroundings with practiced readiness. In a matter of moments her gaze locked on a particularly gnarled old hawthorne tree, and she slipped towards it with barely more than a wave for Deyna to follow. He did so, albeit with uncertainty at what the strange foreigner was planning.

The two otters made their way to the trunk and hauled themselves up onto the thick branches with little trouble; they weren't as swift or silent as squirrels, but they made headway easily enough. It wasn't until they were nearly halfway up the tree that Deyna realized Tumbol wasn't stopping. He pawed at her ankle and whispered when she looked down. "We need to be close enough to come down quickly. If we take too long, the snake could hear us or get out of our range."

Tumbol nodded and mouthed a silent sentence to him, gesturing first to her eyes and then out to the east with a clear reply: she was going to try and spot the serpent from above. Deyna let her continue and eyed the forest floor below, watching her two brothers pace restlessly back and forth at the base of the hawthorne.

A faint summer breeze wafted through the Mossflower canopy and brushed against Deyna's nose: it tasted sour on his tongue. The rustling of the leaves all around was no longer mingled with birdsong anymore.

The sudden scratching of movement woke the Taggerung from his trance, and he barely had time to look up before Tumbol had scrabbled back down to his side, where she curled up into a ball between his belt and the thick tree trunk. Her face had gone pale as a sheet. "It's there, alright," she breathed once she got her voice back. Both her brothers looked up at her soft voice, and she pointed to them in the direction where she had spotted their foe. "Northeast, closin' in."

"Good gell. Stay there, an—"

"It's a _Kobarra_."

The Nevarr brothers fell silent for a moment. Tikky ran a paw across his head.

"Shiverin' seasons alive," he hissed. "You sure?"

"No mistakin' it."

"What's a Kobarra?" Denya echoed, awed by the gravitas in his fellow otter's voice.

"Big snake, mite."

"Well, obviously it's a big snake—"

"Naw, you don't know big 'til you seen one o'them," Tumbol hissed back in a fury. "Full grown, they can take down a badgah. Poison teeth. Only the Naagat-Yara can move fast enough to take down a Kobarra."

"Well I'm faster than you think," Deyna growled, deciding not to bother with asking what the Naagat-Yara were. He was growing tired of all the different terms the siblings would throw at one another like secret code. Besides, he was sure that he could best the creature in speed, because he had yet to come up slow against anybeast he'd ever faced.

"Don't mattah now," Ricky murmured. "Stay outta sight. Strike fast, Deyna. An' if you miss, don't turn… just run."

The Redwall warrior saw death in his friend's eyes as he said it, but already he could hear the faintest rustle of scales on dead leaves coming for them. He pressed himself deeper into the foliage beside Tumbol and waited. Down below, the two Nevarr brothers backed away towards the west, still muttering to one another. "Don't look it inn'e eye, whatevah you do," Tikky hissed. "Watch the ground beneath it."

But Ricky didn't answer. Through the trees just a stone's throw from where the sea otters stood, a mottled silhouette appeared amongst the lengthening shadows of Mossflower Wood. Thick and long as a tree trunk, with scales mixing pale and dark brown hues, the figure slithered forward with predatory grace. At first, Deyna couldn't see how this creature could merit the speed that the Nevarrs had given it credit for… but he had the uneasy feeling that he would find out soon enough. As Tumbol's brothers backed steadily away, the serpent advanced toward them.

Then the Kobarra did something that Deyna didn't expect: as it got just a few meters from the two otters, it began to raise its head up to strike… higher, higher, higher than he had ever seen a snake go before. Soon its nose was nearly level with where Tumbol and the Taggerung crouched in the treetops, holding their breath. Two flaps flared out from either side of its throat, exposing not only its creamy underside but also a pair of marks that resembled mottled, haunting eyes. If he hadn't been so busy trying to anticipate when it would strike, Deyna would have been awed by its sheer appearance.

Ricky and Tikky backed away quickly as the snake rose up, and it was a good thing they did. Deyna didn't see the creature lash out — he just saw its head vanish from the spot where it had been hovering, and suddenly its fangs snapped shut inches from the Nevarr brothers as they sprang backwards into the trees. The Taggerung's instincts kicked in then, and he leapt from the branch that held him, flying out over the monster's exposed neck with the sword of Martin the Warrior clasped in his paws.

But the Kobarra must have heard him coming, because it whipped its head back just before his blade came down where it had been an instant before. In Deyna's mind, Ricky's voice came back to him as clear as day: "If you miss, don't turn… just run."

The Taggerung rolled when he hit the forest floor and dove after the Nevarrs, not bothering to glance back but hearing the furious hiss and snap of the serpent's jaws trying to catch him as he dove out of its reach. He and the two Nevarrs were free of it for now, but now they were racing for their lives with the Kobarra in pursuit, and his stomach churned in worry. They had lost the element of surprise, and the serpent had seen every member of their team that possessed any sort of blade. The only one of them who remained hidden and could possibly distract it was…

"Oy!"

Deyna turned in surprise, just in time to see a bright ball of scruffy fur hurtling through the air. It was Tumbol, passing dangerously close to the Kobarra's striking range. She looked more furious and more frightened in that moment than Deyna had ever seen her. To his utter horror (as well as relief), the diversion worked, and the serpent took off after her into the brush towards the south.

Deyna raced along behind them all, doing his best to keep Tumbol in his sight. Tough as she talked when she was around her brothers, he remembered how shaky she had been when she first saw the Kobarra, and how easily he himself had overpowered her when they first met. She was flying through the trees on all fours like lightening now, but he didn't trust her to keep up that pace for long. He could already hear her breath turn from a light pant to a wheezing. More than once he thought she was about to slow down to a fatal pace… but then the sound of the reptile raking along behind her would send new energy into her limbs. As Deyna kept up, he started to think that perhaps she would be able to keep the snake distracted long enough for their plan to work after all.

But then Tumbol glanced over her shoulder. It was a harmless gesture: one meant to gauge the distance she was keeping twixt herself and the snake as she neared the crest of a hill. One of her front paws snagged on a stray tree root, and all at once she was sent tumbling away into an old rowan trunk. Deyna felt his heart fly into his mouth at the sight.

The serpent sank low to the ground when Tumbol crashed into the tree. She scrambled to her feet to flee in the hopes that it was still a safe distance behind her, but in her momentary glance the two of them made eye contact. Tumbol's gaze was immediately locked onto that of her predator, and she seemed to forget that her legs were supposed to be moving. Deyna heard the Nevarr brothers shout to her, and the terror that was in their voices made the hair down the length of his spine stand on end. He had learned from a young age that some snakes could hypnotize their prey, but it was making him sick to actually witness it in person. Two plans immediately thundered into his mind as he ran along towards the snake and towards Tumbol: distract the Kobarra… or distract Tumbol. He would only have time to perform one of those tasks.

However, in the end it was the Nevarr brothers who made Deyna's choice a little easier. The two of them had been running a few lengths to his left, and were just a few seconds closer to her and the snake than he was. As soon as they'd realized their little sister had faltered, they shot towards the Kobarra, yodeling war cries and waving their weapons in the hopes of drawing its attention. The serpent didn't seem to care at first… at least not until they barreled right past it and even had the audacity to jump across its scaly flanks and nick its scales on the way.

With the snake distracted, Deyna knew he had only one other option. The Kobarra had whirled about and was facing the twins at least briefly, but if he were to hurtle out into the open, he would appear immediately in its peripheral vision. So, as silent as a shadow and in true Taggerung fashion, Deyna shot around behind the serpent and slammed into Tumbol. He was hoping to both knock her down the hill _and_ knock her out of the hypnotic trance. He did the first successfully, but when he leapt to his feet at the bottom of the knoll, Tumbol was still on her back: swaying about in an uneasy daze.

Deyna had no doubts that the Kobarra would be after them with a vengeance this time, and the sputtering hiss from the top of the hill confirmed it. So, with no time to wait for Tumbol to recover her senses of her own accord, he dove over to her and sank his fangs deep into the tip of her tail.

Tumbol gave a yowl that would echo in Deyna's nightmares for weeks to come, and she nearly gave him a black eye with an instinctive, well-aimed kick… but Deyna was the Taggerung. In an instant, he was crouching on the other side of her, and he leapt forward to grab her arm and drive her onwards into the forest. It only took her a few steps to find her footing, and then she was racing westward alongside him, adrenaline blazing through her veins thanks to Deyna's bite. He could see her eyes and whiskers twitching as her mind recovered and she realized what had passed. Terror was written into her features now.

For a moment behind them, the sounds of the whooping brothers and the hissing snake almost vanished… but then the shouts grew loud once more. Ricky and Tikky appeared just a stone's throw to the left: hurtling through the underbrush on all fours, their chests heaving with exertion. Their entire band was headed in the same direction now.

Deyna eyed the three Nevarr siblings. For a brief moment the question entered his thoughts as to which of them was most likely to survive this— but he pushed all those fears to the back of his mind and refused to answer them. He was already forming a plan to bring down the serpent, for his ears had just picked up the sound of a deep rumbling waterfall not a half-mile ahead of them. He tightened his grip on the sword of Martin the Warrior and prayed for a miracle.

Sure enough, in less than ten seconds the trees thinned out and the dying sunlight revealed a huge canyon before them. The river was tumbling into it, misting and roaring and sending glittering rainbows out in multiple directions. For the Nevarr siblings, it never even crossed their minds that it might be dangerous to jump the cliffs without knowing the depths of the waters below: not one of them so much as broke a stride and the three of them dove over the edge. But Deyna dug his hind claws into the earth and slid around to a stop, facing the Kobarra with the tip of his tail just dangling over the start of the precipice.

The great serpent slowed as it realized he meant to fight it, and it flared out the flaps in its neck to reveal two grotesque scaly marks like eyes in its flesh. Deyna breathed in its sickening scent and readied his blade… but when would it strike? And where would it aim? He suddenly felt a ripple of fear. He had always been trained to read the answers in his enemies' eyes.

The Kobarra swayed back and forth readily. Deyna considered taking a step back to fall into the river… but for all he knew, it could strike swifter than that. And how long was it going to wait before it did?

Deyna's eyes flicked upward. It was only for a moment, just as Tumbol had only glanced back for a moment… but suddenly the snake's gaze was filling his mind. His body froze, giving up the idea that he might be able to best this serpent in speed. He could read into its soul that it really _was_ faster… _was_ stronger… _would_ defeat him. The distant voices of the Nevarrs were screaming for him to run, _run!_ But they were drowned out by the sound of the waterfall.

 _You're mine_ , the Kobarra's eyes seemed to speak to his heart, and he believed it.

Then the world went black.

* * *

 **Here ends Book I of** ** _Naagat-Yara_** **. Book II will begin in January of 2016.**


	14. Chapter 13

Deyna' mind came to before the rest of his body: his thoughts were sluggish, but his limbs were even more so. The roar of the waterfall was still pounding and echoing in his ears like a steady drum, but the hissing of the Kobarra was gone. He allowed his other senses to run wild: he could smell the musty scent of stale water, he could feel cool smooth rock up against his back. Long before he finally opened his eyes, he already knew that he was in a moonlit cave just beneath the waterfall in Mossflower… and that there were other beasts besides just the Nevarrs in the caverns with him.

"You sure he's alright?"

"He'll be fine - aside from a little headache, pr'aps."

"But 'e ain't movin'. You said he'd only be out for a few minutes."

"Bettah than a snake bite though, sis."

"Oy nevvah thought them snakes could get any biggah."

"Larra says she swore she saw one down by Higby's coast the size of Uncle Dan's ship once."

"Faw, ain't no way a Kobarra can get that big, Tik! Larra was pullin' your leg!"

"Full well she wasn't, you know she ain't the exaggeratin' type! And she don't even like snakes—"

"Oh yeah? No Kobarra could get all the way to Higby's coast: they nevvah come that fah north on their own!"

"Then how did one get _here_?" Deyna asked the squabbling siblings, sitting up abruptly. The three of them jumped at his seemingly-sudden return to consciousness. Beside them, Deyna looked over a greyish shrew wearing a brightly-colored headband. He knew immediately from Skipper's tales of Mossflower that this was one of the Guosim: the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. Closer to the cave entrance, he could see a number of younger skinnier shrews waiting around or wrestling roughly with one another. The shrew sitting with the Nevarrs, however, seemed much older — and had the slightest hint of a paunch poking out from beneath his tunic.

"Good to see you back amongst the livin, mite," Ricky proffered. "How long 'ave you been awake then?"

"Not long. Though I rather wish I wasn't." Deyna pressed a paw to his temples, as if he could somehow rub away the throbbing inside of his skull.

"Well I won't apologize fer that bit, so you might as well know I did it," the old shrew bragged back at him with a flashy grin of white teeth. He produced a tiny green feathered dart, tied about with red twine and as sharp as a needle. "You're one lucky snake-fighter, says I."

Deyna's neck gave out a twinge, as if remembering the impact. "You shot me?" he exclaimed indignantly. "With the Kobarra about to strike?"

"I could have let the snake go first," the shrew growled with a smile still playing around his features. "Like I said, you're lucky you were close to the falls. Made fer a softer landing."

"And you're lucky we dragged you out," Tikky added.

"Took all three of us. Lay off the second helpings, eh?"

Deyna rubbed his neck where the dart had stung him. "But what about the snake?"

"My lads distracted it." The grey shrew extended a paw. "Log-a-Log Kipling, at'cher service. We've been after that scaly sneak fer nearly a week."

"It's started raidin' their camps," Ricky growled. "Killed the last Lawg-a-Lawg, 'e said."

"Guosim law requires the avenging of a leader's death," Kipling admitted. "But now… we've lost almost half our warriors trying to fulfill that promise. Mossflower hasn't faced a snake like this for an age."

"And nevvah a Kobarra. We still dunno what it's doin' so fah north," Tikky grumbled.

Tumbol scratched her festering jaw and did her best to look especially intelligent. "Oy been finkin' about that," she announced as Ricky slapped her paw down. "Smuggled eggs, maybe. Any corsairs lookin' for a quick meal might grab an egg from the jungle wivvout lookin' too close at it. Could'a hatched onboard any ol' ship then, couldn't it?"

"But surely a ship full of corsairs could kill one tiny _newborn_ Kobarra?" Deyna snorted. He was tiring of all their exaggerations. But instead, he was met with three very grave looks, and Ricky could not help a shudder that went through his tail fur at the thought.

"Oh, they're deadly at birth, mite." The eldest Nevarr tapped one of his sharp canine fangs. "Venom's already there. So's the magic eye."

"Yeah, you two made a right ol' meal o'that, ya did," Tikky snorted at Deyna and his sister. "Don't look into the eye, we said. Kobarras got a way wif' ya when you look 'em in the eye, we said."

Tumbol growled deep in her throat. "Who was it saved your life back there, ya fat lump? Oy didn't _mean_ to look it in the eye—"

"It was really me who made the meal of it," Deyna admitted. "Growing up I was taught you could always tell an opponent's intentions by looking them in the eyes. Old habits, I guess."

"Aw, don't be too hard on yesself." Tikky gave him a hearty whack on the shoulder. "You ain't one o'the Naagat-Yara."

Deyna sighed. "And what exactly are the Naagat-Yara, may I ask? Is that another family line of otter legends — your second cousins, maybe?"

At his first question, the siblings looked only mildly surprised. But at the second, Ricky and Tikky guffawed and barked so loudly with laughter that the whole cave shook: Deyna almost feared that they might cause the caverns to collapse.

"Nah," Tumbol murmured. She had been slightly sobered by the recent events and had barely let out a giggle when Deyna made his guess. "No one knows _what_ they ah. It's just part o'the song."

Deyna blinked in surprise. "What song?"

The Nevarr brothers pointed blankly at one another. "Our song. The old milit'ree stomp them hares do at Salamandastron, that our fathah named us for. Rikki-Tikky-Tom."

"I've never heard it."

"Nor me," admitted Log-A-Log Kipling.

The Nevarrs rolled their eyes in exasperation, as if they grew more and more tired of every Mossflower beast's ignorance of what they considered to be basic musical lore. "It's about the only creature that can slay a four-eyed snake," Tumbol sighed. "Cause Kobarras have them extra eye-marks on their scales, y'see."

"Rikki-Tikky-tom, tom  
Listen to the drum, drum…"

Ricky and Tikky chanted in unison. Their accents suddenly changed, losing nearly all their foreign twang in favor of a posh imitation of the Long Patrol. While Boorab might have been a bit insulted, Deyna couldn't help but think the mimicry was comically accurate.

"Only two beasts walk the path  
Blinded by the bloodwrath

Rikki-Tikky-tom, tom  
To the Naagat-Yara come  
Squirrel's tail and ferret's frown,  
Goose's name but not its down

Rikki-Tikky-tom, tom  
Wearing all the scales won  
From the four-eyed snakes they eat  
That no badger can defeat

Rikki-Tikky-tom, tom  
Seek out where they're from, from  
Keep right of the sunrise  
'Til you see their red eyes."


	15. Chapter 14

Log-a-Log Kipling wrinkled his nose in disgust at the cryptic lyrics. "What sort o'classic rhyme is that?"

"Well _all_ the ol' nursery rhymes ain't got sense nowadays: that's just how the song goes."

"But what did it mean, a goose's name but not its down?" Deyna agreed grumpily, crossing his arms. "Are the Naagat-Yara some sort of feather-less geese?"

"Don't be ridiculous, even a hawk would lose to one o'them snakes," Tikky sneered. "Naagat-Yara ain't birds, 'cause birds don't wear clothes. Like it says. Naagat-Yara wear snake-skins."

"And whatever they ah, they're fastah than badgah lords," Tumbol pointed out. "You gotta be fast to catch a Kobarra. And then the bloodwrath's what keeps 'em from freezin' if they look the snake in the eye. No other beast suffers from the bloodwrath except badgahs."

Log-a-Log leaned forward eagerly. "Are these real creatures, these Naagat-Yaras? Where do they live?" Deyna caught the fiery glint in the senior shrew's eyes, and his interest in the Nevarrs' answers suddenly increased tenfold.

Ricky shrugged. "Somewhere on the southern coasts. Keep right o'the sunrise: that means go south."

"Aren't you from the south?" Deyna reminded him.

"Not _that_ fah," Tikky snorted. But his other siblings seemed to catch on to what Deyna and Log-a-Log were thinking.

Tumbol shook her head incredulously as she eyed the Taggerung with a new sense of wonder. "You're thinkin' o'sendin' us off to go find the Naagat-Yara."

"No, _I'm_ thinking of going off to find the Naagat-Yara," Deyna corrected her. "With your help, of course; you three would know more about finding one than me. But I'm certainly not going to send you and then stay here twiddling my claws."

"My thoughts exactly," Log-a-Log Kipling growled, leaning in with a grim look. "I may have my responsibility to the Guosim to think of, but that don't mean we won't do our part to help you as much as we can." Then he turned and called over one shoulder to his followers: "Grip! Stop yer playing and get up here, on the double!"

One of the more muscular adolescent shrews looked up from sparring practice with his fellows — and promptly got a whack on the tail from his opponent. He screeched and dove at his assailant, and the two of them turned into a blur of brown fur and flashing teeth.

Kipling sighed and slowly stood to his feet, towering over his subordinates (but barely meeting the otters eye-to-eye even though they were sitting). "I said stop yer playing," he growled low. "And get… up…"

Before the word "here" had even passed his lips again, scruffy little Grip was standing before him with an expression of utter shame. The other shrews were cowering and slinking near the other edge of the cave, too, as if their Log-a-Log's soft voice was more terrifying than any bellowing he could have made.

Log-a-Log Kipling turned back to the three otters. "This here's my son, Grip. If you really aim to find one o'those Naagat-Yara creatures, then he'll represent the Guosim an' go with you in my stead."

Beside him, Grip did his best to look imposing — but it couldn't quite erase the confusion etched in his features. "Yeah," Grip announced. "I can track anythin' on four paws, alright."

"Naagat-Yara don't have four paws," Tikky informed him.

Grip's whiskers drooped. "Well, I— I can still track 'em, whatever they are—"

"Hang on, you, I thought you said you didn't know what the Naagat-Yara thingummies are," Log-a-Log Kipling interrupted.

Tikky and his siblings erupted into a fit of sniggers. "No, but who knows if they have four paws or not?" they cackled. "Could be maybe they've got seven!"

"Or wings!"

"Maybe they're paht-fish!"

"Or toads, hahaha!"

Deyna crossed his arms and chose to ignore their hilarity for the moment, instead looking over the Log-a-Log's son with no small amount of solemnity to match the gravitas of their situation. "We're going to find a creature to help us fight this snake," he explained with warning in his tone. "And it may take us further south than any one of us have ever been before. We don't want to force you if you don't want to go—"

"I'm your shrew," Grip barked with a sudden ferocity that put his previous temper tantrums to shame. "I've been wanting to tear that slithering scum a new one for some time now: don't care how long it takes, or how far I have to go. I'll do it!"

This finally seemed to calm the Nevarrs down. Tikky even proffered the young shrew a toothy grin. "Oh, we'll be goin' fah, alright. But who'll defend this place if you ain't here, eh?" He turned to Deyna. "You too. You may be mighty brave to go with us, but they might need you here if the Kobarra goes near Redwall."

Log-a-Log Kipling scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe my people can stay ourselves at the abbey for a spell. We're not cut out for life behind walls… but at the rate we're losing shrews, a little holiday indoors won't hurt us near as bad, says I."

"Yes, and the Skipper of Otters will be there, too," Deyna added, though more and more his gut was starting to twist and groan awfully at the danger he might be leaving his sister and mother in. "He's defended Redwall before."

Everyone nodded… but then said nothing. They all seemed to be sensing the same thing as the Taggerung: that nobody in Redwall or even the Guosim would really be able to stop the great serpent if it did slither over those sandstone walls.

"P'raps… one of us ought ta stay behind just in case," Ricky announced suddenly, with a glance at his brother and sister. "Since we've seen the snake first-hand. You two can take Deyna south right easy. And Oy can guard the abbeybeasts fairly well, Oy think."

"What?" Tikky and Tumbol replied in unison. "Why you?"

"Cause I'm the oldest—"

"Only by eight minutes," Tikky protested.

"…and Oy'd rathah fight that serpent than leave one o'you to do it…"

"But we feel the same way about you," Tumbol protested.

"…and most of all," Ricky finished bluntly. "Because Oy'm the best fightah of us three, and don't you try to say otherwise because you know it. _You_ may not need me to find the Naagat-Yara, but _they_ may need me to fight the Kobarra. Undah-stood?"

Tumbol and Tikky flattened their ears in worry, and their whiskers quivered. However, Deyna snapped his claws together as a realization hit him like a thunderbolt. "I just remembered! I had a dream after Log-a-Log knocked me out with his dart! You reminded me, Ricky."

"Oy did?"

"Yes. Martin the Warrior spoke to me."

The Nevarrs looked at one another in slight confusion, but Log-a-Log Kipling nodded sagely. The Guosim shrews had been involved in Redwall's affairs often enough to be well-familiar with the legend of the abbey's guiding spirit. "Tell us," he replied without hesitation.

Deyna shut his eyes and thought hard. Now that he could recall the dream, the smoky image of the mouse warrior returned to his memory. The calm voice echoed in his mind, and he recited as it spoke:

"Find the eldest, brave and true:  
He shall bear thy sword for you.  
Journey at a breakneck pace,  
Ere the serpent finds this place.  
But beware; the warrior slight  
Shan't be swayed by show of might."

His audience sat dumbfounded, some of them awed by Martin's foresight while others were more concerned with the riddle's cryptic words. "What in the seasons is that supposed to mean?" Tikky jeered at last.

"Well it's pretty clear straight off," Log-a-Log snorted at him. "The eldest, brave and true, is yer brother there! He'll look after the sword of Martin the Warrior while Deyna's away."

"Aye," the Taggerung murmured. "I'd hate for it to be lost far from Redwall instead of remaining on the grounds to defend our home." His ears pricked and he suddenly looked about anxiously, realizing that the weapon was not sheathed in his belt. "Where has it gone to? Did I drop it when I fell into the waterfall?"

"Oy, but don't worry yesself," Ricky assured him. The eldest sea otter reached behind his heavy tail and revealed the sword of Martin the Warrior lying behind it, wrapped in barkcloth and gleaming in the eery dancing light of the underground cave's ripping pools. He lifted the blade respectfully and held it out to Deyna. "We fetched it and dried it off."

The Redwall warrior gently placed a paw on the shining crimson pommel stone, but pushed it back towards Ricky. "You'd best hold onto it, as Martin said. I'll have to journey south for the Naagat-Yara… and at a breakneck pace, apparently."

The elder Nevarr frowned at him sympathetically before unbuckling the twin dirks and their sheaths from his own belt. He passed them to Deyna with a firm smile. "Well, don't think for a moment that you're gonna go un-ahmed." The Taggerung accepted the blades with a grateful smile, and he admired the firm weight of the two weapons in his paws. They weren't equal to the badger-made sword he would be leaving behind, of course, but they were sturdy and balanced, with soft brown handles that fit the grip of an otter perfectly. Their maker seemed to have focused entirely on their function rather than their appearance, and Ricky had clearly kept them in fine condition.

Meanwhile, Tikky sat in a sulk as he watched the exchange of weapons. He did not seem very keen on letting his brother stay behind or surrender his dirks, even for the legendary sword of Redwall abbey… but somehow his confusion over the riddle seemed to win out instead. "But what's the last bit mean, eh? 'The warrior slight shan't be swayed by show of might?' Bunch o'gibberish, inn'it!"

Tumbol and Grip nodded in agreement, though they did not seem to want to declare any disrespect for the riddle by voicing their concerns. Deyna gave Tikky a genuine shrug. "I don't know what it means any more than you do, pal… but I get the feeling we're going to find out."


	16. Chapter 15

With the sun just starting to beat down with the heavy heat of any telltale summer afternoon, Log-a-Log and his tribe led the four otters to the Guosim camp, coasting downstream from the waterfall in two hollowed-out longboats. They finally pulled themselves towards shore near a peaceful inlet where a calm pool lay smooth as crystal and away from the effects of the broadstream's current. Several other shrew vessels had already been hauled onto the sandy banks around the makeshift harbor, and Guosim were either splashing about in the shallows with their babes or else lounging under the shade of overhanging boughs to try and keep cool. Kipling started issuing orders to the beasts onshore as soon as he floated into view. "Git four travelin' sacks, Kurby, on the double! Fill 'em good and tight with as much vittles as they can 'old! Sirrel, start clearin' out the biggest longboat we've got!"

The Guosim scattered obediently while Ricky held a whispered conference with their Log-a-Log. When the prow of the vessel brushed onto land, Deyna and Grip climbed out and waded ashore. The Nevarrs, on the other hand, fell backwards over the gunwales and landed with contented "plops" in the cool water. In no time flat, Tikky had Tumbol's arm pinned behind her back and was tickling her mercilessly. She squirmed and bucked to no effect, with her face just barely breaking the surface, and she squealed before swallowing a mouthful of water. "Ricky! Deyna! Help me, mites— ulk!"

Kipling shook his head in amusement at their antics. "Those sea otters are as bad as our young'ns, friend," he chuckled.

The Taggerung let out a chortle of laugher and put on a face of mock despair while Log-a-Log trundled off to have a word with Sirrel. "You don't know the half of it, sir."

"I hope you riverdogs have decent appetites," a kindly female shrew called as she bustled about onshore with armfuls of herbs and fresh wild lettuce. She was sending her helpers scattering with naught but silent looks and swift gestures, after the manner of their stoic Log-a-Log. "I'll wager you've never had Guosim cooking in yer lives, 'ave ya?"

"No, marm, an' Oy'm afraid we won't for a long time," a soaking Ricky admitted with a respectful tug of his ear while his siblings roughhoused in the shallows. "My friends hafta be off straightaway on a journey south… and Oy'd best get meself ta Redwall Abbey and warn them about the Kobarra."

"Not alone, you won't," Log-a-Log Kipling barked as he marched back from the line of longboats pulled up on the sand. "Guosim, circle up!" In no time flat, the quarrelsome shrews flocked towards their leader and huddled together eagerly with not-so-quiet whisperings about what announcement he might be about to make. Grip lingered by Deyna's side with his arms crossed, trying to look solemn and authoritative while his father spoke. "Listen up. That great snake ain't worth chasin' if it means the death of our entire union! Now don't yew think for a minute," Kipling added with a warning snarl at the uneasy murmurings that started up immediately. "That we ain't gonna avenge Log-a-Log Whip. But we're gonna do it smart-like, without losin' shrews left an' right. These riverdogs may know of a creature that can defeat the serpent, so they're headed south to find one. In the meantime, we Guosim are goin' to take refuge at Redwall Abbey."

An audible gasp shot through Kipling's audience. Many of his subjects looked horrified at the idea of living in an enclosed area… others seemed awed that their leader should even be bold enough to suggest such a revolutionary change. Deyna raised a paw for silence, and with Log-a-Log's nod of approval he stepped forward. "Redwall can provide for ten tribes of Guosim without any trouble," he assured them. "I know many of you aren't keen on the idea of leaving your territory… I was raised in the open, too. Sometimes it's hard for me to live in a place where I can't see the horizon." The warrior shrugged amiably. "But it's safe. There's plenty to do there. And the food is the best I've ever tasted in my life."

"Oy'll second that," Ricky chuckled. "The abbeybeasts could use some good protectors… you fellas know more about the Kobarra and these woods than any of 'em."

"There's always been an alliance twixt the shrews of the Guosim and the creatures at Redwall Abbey," Kipling confirmed with a special eye on the last few fighters that still remained glaring at him amongst his followers. "They need our help… and they're willing to offer us aid, too. An' we never fail our allies, because we're the Guosim. Who are we?"

"Guosim," Grip and a few shrews barked. They were firm and confident, but most of their peers had remained silent with half-hearted, shifting footpaws.

Kipling drew his rapier in a flash, swishing it in a wide arch that sent a faint breeze ruffling through the fur of the nearest watchers. He bellowed into their faces. " _Who are we!?_ "

" _Guosim_ ," all of the shrews roared back as their honor was kindled.

"Then ready yourselves, Guosim," their Log-a-Log roared. "Smother the fires! Roll up y'packs! Stow the longboats, good an' secret-like! We're goin' where no Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower 'as ever gone, and we're doin' what none of 'em have ever dared to do! _We're goin' to Redwall!_ "

His followers scattered in a flash as the excitement spread amongst them like flames through a dry meadow. Shrews dove over one another to finish their tasks quickly, tossing supplies through the air and heaving their dugout canoes ashore to be carefully buried beneath tarps and brushwood above the waterline. Deyna and his companions caught lumpy haversacks of food that were tossed to them by the shrew called Kirby. However, when Kipling's son spotted the crew hauling the last longboat out of the shallows, he sent one sprawling with a well-aimed kick. "What'cha doin' with that vessel, Sirrel? My da said we'd need one o'those!"

Log-a-Log caught Grip by one ear and dragged him back to Deyna's side, then jerked a thumb towards Ricky. "Change o'plans, son! That big'un said you wouldn't be needing a longboat. The four o'you are travelin' over land to the ford, instead o'following the river as it curves about on a longer course to get there." Kipling released his son's ear, then suddenly pulled him into a tight hug and patted his back firmly. "Be safe, laddie. You protect these lanky riverdogs, now. Do the Guosim proud."

When they pulled away from each other, Grip ran a quick paw across his nose and cleared his throat to stifle a few sniffles. "Won't let you down, Log-a-Log, sir!" he barked.

Within just a few short minutes, the shrews were ready to travel. Many seemed uneasy to leave the river and travel by footpaw, but they expressed little more than a few faint grumbles as they prepared to set out. Deyna stood by the banks and shook Ricky's paw before standing aside: Tikky and Tumbol threw their arms around their oldest brother and buried their noses into his fur, clasping him tight. The Nevarrs pressed into one another and shut their eyes. "You be sure to give that slitherin' sneak what 'e deserves, brothah," Tikky grunted before he backed away. "But don't get too close."

Beside him, Tumbol withdrew as well, but kept a paw on her brother's sinewy arm for a few more moments as if afraid to let go. "Guard them abbeybeasts well, Rick. Ain't no beast bettah for it. Keep safe."

Her brother gave her a broad grin and tapped a claw beneath her scarred chin. "Don't let that face o'yours frighten them Naagat-Yara too bad, sis."

With a final wave, Ricky retreated to Log-a-Log Kipling's side and turned with him to march north into the woodlands. Deyna turned and started to make his way east, with Grip and the two remaining sea otter siblings at his side. The Redwall warrior caught the solemn look on Tikky's usually-jovial features and raised an eyebrow. 'What's the matter, mate? Are you worried?"

"Naw," Tumbol's brother sighed as he gradually took the lead and guided them between the trees of Mossflower wood. "Not more than usual."

"We say farewells all'a time," Tumbol agreed with a sigh. "But they're always hard… we always say our goodbyes like they might be our last."

Grip, having recovered from rubbing his eyes after parting ways with his father, scowled and kicked sullenly at a fern as he went. "Don't it hurt, thinkin' so macabre every time you part ways?"

"Oy," Tikky admitted. "But it's fah better than ignoring our kin and living wiv any regrets if we lose 'em."

Deyna followed them all in silence, with his unspoken goodbyes to Mhera and Filorn weighing heavy on his own heart like a stone.

* * *

With the two Nevarrs in the lead, the four companions managed to reach the ford at the Great South Stream just before the sun was starting to sink into the west and cast long evening shadows over the woodlands. Grip's breathing was heavy by then, but whenever Deyna had offered to carry him on one shoulder, the shrew merely shot him a venomous glare. "I ain't a babe," he had snapped, and then he stomped onwards while muttering under his breath. However, now that they had reached running water again, the Guosim warrior's temper only worsened. "Well this is a fine pickle, riverdogs," he grumbled. "Whadder you plan to do, swim all the way to the sea? Or maybe you're hopin' to trudge there! You'll get a nasty surprise if you try; there are bogs and marshlands for miles downstream. We should 'ave borrowed a longboat from my father back at the Guosim camp!"

Deyna followed the sea otters into the treeline away from the ford, watching as they listened to the shrew's tirade with surprising calmness. Neither sibling looked in the least bit concerned by the accusations: if anything, they seemed amused. Grip took his frustration out by swatting at bushes and branches that got in his way. "Cutting our own trail through Mossflower now, are we? How grand!"

The Nevarrs slowed when they reached a sandy glen full of conifers, then knelt beside a small dune and started to dig with broad grins. The Taggerung just started to realize what they were up to when the siblings caught hold of the edges to a tan, buried tarp and heaved it up: beneath lay the barnacled keel of their own sailing vessel. The rustic ketch looked well-used, but also well-cared-for, with the name "Lily," painstakingly burnt into the wood of its prow. Tikky and Tumbol cackled at Grip's stunned face and dug their claws underneath the gunwales. Deyna joined the two otters in heaving their vessel off the ground without much trouble. While the three of them grunted and walked the ketch towards the water, the Guosim shrew trailed behind them in a great sulk. "You could have said something," he grumbled.

Tikky merely shot him a wry wink. "Where's the fun in that, mite?"

Grip's touchy mood did not subside once they had all climbed into the vessel and pushed off from shore. He insisted on inspecting the ketch from bow to stern, ensuring that the supplies were carefully stored alongside the bulwarks and even bound to the bases of the seats wherever possible. He almost objected to wrapping the packs in special oily bags that the Nevarrs had brought, but the sea otters insisted that the tanned material would keep off any moisture that happened to splash into the boat. Deyna soaked in the delightful experience of floating down the river at such an incredible speed; the last time he had done this sort of thing, he and Nimbalo had been traveling with the Dillypins on their massive raft. This, however, was no bulky flat craft meant to drift along like a fallen log. The Nevarr's small ship navigated the currents like an arrow, slipping along without a sound except for the occasional creak of the tiller under Tikky's easy touch.

It wasn't until Grip attempted to lecture Tumbol on how to properly fold up the tarp from the conifer grove that her jolly disposition subsided, and after a few attempts to humor the shrew, her temper gave out and she tossed the canvas hotly onto him with a "WHUMP." "You fold it then, if you're so clevvah," she snapped as Grip was buried underneath the half-folded tarp. "Go on, then."

Deyna frowned at her. Just as he was kneeling down to help his friend wriggle out from beneath the heavy material, there was a loud splash to the starboard, and a gigantic net shot up out of the water and above their heads. The friends yelled in horror as the woven rope curved over the ketch and capsized it with a mighty heave!

The four of them plunged into the chilly broadstream and wriggled furiously within the gigantic trawl, which crushed them beneath the weight of the ketch as it was hauled towards the south bank. Bubbles streamed from Deyna's mouth as he struggled against the thick ropes, grateful that he had sucked in a lungful of air before going underwater. Beside him, he felt Grip's tiny frame grappling about in a panic; the Guosim shrew wouldn't be able to hold his breath as long as the three otters. The Redwall warrior grabbed his friend firmly and shoved him through the nearest hole in the net: he slumped with relief as Grip slipped out instantly.

With a final heave, the three otters and their vessel were dragged into the shallows. Just before he came up for air, Deyna spotted the distinctive footpaws of water rats sloshing about by the murky banks — then his head emerged from the water, and something hard slammed down onto the back of his head.


	17. Chapter 16

Deyna let his body go limp, though in reality the blow to his skull did little more than smart; he had angled his head in preparation for the assault, and his attacker's blunt instrument had merely glanced off past his ear. Unfortunately, he could feel Tikky and Tumbol collapse beside him, and knew he alone was conscious. He cracked an eye open as the net was hauled onshore. The culprits were river rats, sure enough: four scrawny, tattooed thieves who likely scraped up a living by robbing helpless passersby. The likes of them had rarely ever dared to join clans like the Juskarath. In comparison to the larger and stronger stoats or foxes, rats were almost always stuck as little more than extra lackeys for the captains to kick about.

The Taggerung rolled with the motion of the net until he was lying on his stomach, paws flat against the muddy earth in preparation for the moment when he and his companions would be dragged from the tangle of woven ropes. First a pair of the rats took hold of the ketch's prow, sticking out of the mess, and tugged until its smooth flanks started to slip free out of a fold in the net. Then, to Deyna's sudden horror, he realized that the band of vermin were snatching all of the weapons from his belt, and tucking the ropes in tighter: they had no intention of fishing their captives out or untangling them at all!

The Redwall warrior roared and sprung at the nearest rat! When the jumbled mesh pulled him back, he shoved his muzzle through a gap in the net and sunk his teeth into the robber's paw. The creature shrieked and swatted at Deyna's head furiously. "Owowow! Gerroff, you great ruddy riverdog! Argh! 'Elp, mates, he'll tear it off!"

The Taggerung clamped his jaws tighter and tighter until he tasted the salt of metallic blood on his tongue. Finally the leader, a slightly larger beast than the rest of the gang, came at him with a squat short sword and struck his skull with the hilt. This time Deyna finally collapsed, trying to shake his stunned head. The water rat stood over him and flashed a cruel grin of long, sharp teeth. "Think yer'ra big tough beast, do ye?" he snarled at the Taggerung. His followers dragged the net along the shore, then tossed several thick lines over the overhanging limb of a massive hornbeam. When they heaved, Deyna and the Nevarrs were grudgingly hauled into the air like a fresh catch. "Well, well, well! What sorta fish do we have 'ere, mates! They're awful furry for eating, don'chew think?"

"Hahaha, they looks plenty plump though, chief, don't they!"

"Aye, that they do! Even that toothy one, haharr!"

When Tikky moaned and started to wriggle, the lead rat jabbed him threateningly with the short sword. "Don'chew get any ideas about tryin' to escape, understand? Or we'll build a fire under yehs and and have roast otter fer dinner, hahahar!"

Tumbol's brother growled as his wits returned to him. "You'll regret this," he roared as he clawed at the woven ropes. "You'll rue the day yew evvah crossed the clan Nevahh!"

But the water rat did not seem the list bit concerned by his captive's family tree. He stood smugly out of Tikky's reach and used the flat of his blade to bat away the otter's paw with a hard smack. "Try that once more, riverdog, an' I'll cut it off, see!"

Stuck at the bottom of the net beneath the heavy weight of the two males, Tumbol groaned as she came to. She caught Deyna's eye as she glanced up, then her brow furrowed in concern. "What happened to Gr—mmmph!" The Redwall warrior hurriedly clamped a paw over her mouth and whined in a pitiful voice to their captor: "Oh please, sir, we're only _three_ helpless riverdogs on an evening outing, so we are! Please don't hurt us! We haven't a friend for miles! You've bested us three otters — hasn't he, Tikky?"

The elder Nevarr spat out the words as if they were sour within his mouth. "Aye, bested us 'e has, mite."

Tumbol nodded in solemn agreement. "What can just three creatures like us do against four strapping rats like yesselves, Oy ask ya?"

Flattered by their newfound groveling personalities, the leader of the vermin polished a claw on his tunic and smirked. "Nothin', that's what you can do. Now stay quiet, or else we'll start to work on yeh _now_ instead of giving you a good night's rest first, hahahar!" He and his mates cackled as they returned to the bonfire where they had been settling down for the evening.

Once Deyna had pawed the water and mud from his eyes and glanced about at the vermin camp, he realized that he and his friends were not the only captives. Across the small clearing where the fire was being stoked, a pair of hares had been strung up with their wrists bound to a rowan branch. The two captives were roughly the same size, but in different ways. The first was a male with an eyepatch who had clearly been a large specimen in his youth, but now he looked as if he was starting to get rather knobbly and scruffy with age. The other hare was a female in her prime, perhaps a bit shorter and wider than her friend, but appearing just as big as him because there was still thick flesh still on her bones. The two of them wore matching sand-colored burlap robes tied with simple cords, and the only possessions that the vermin seemed to have plundered from them were a pair of worn haversacks, a small tinker's hammer, and the fat-bladed short sword which the lead rat had now cast on the ground beside the fire.

The hares were watching the proceedings calmly, almost indifferently. When the female turned and eyed Deyna directly, the flames glinted off of something on her muzzle and the Redwall warrior realized that a bronze hoop was hanging from a piercing through her nose. When he met her gaze, her brows lowered and she winked at him — so quickly, and without any trace of a smile, that for a moment he almost wondered if he had imagined it. Deyna's eyes narrowed in satisfaction, and he winked back. The she-hare looked him over with mild interest, then turned away and focused on their captors once more.

The water rats were going through the spoils to be found upon the Nevarr ketch. They were tossing the weapons into a haversack with the ones that they had confiscated from the hares, and then setting the supplies in a pile by the fire — though several of them had their noses buried in the packs of scones, oat farls, hard cheese, and dandelion and rosehip cordial. Crumbs spewed from their mouths as they talked excitedly with their mouths full. "Lookit all these vittles, mates!"

"I haven't et so good since we robbed them likkle bankvoles last winter, her hee hee!"

"Faw, I'll sure sleep well tonight with my stomach this full!"

As darkness came down upon the woodlands in earnest, the captives settled in and waited for the vermin sentry to drift into unconsciousness. However, the water rat that had elected to take the first watch was no fool; he walked in slow, measured circles around the clearing and never slowed or paused to lean against a tree and risk dozing off. He monitored both the looming woodlands and his hard-gotten prisoners equally. From where he lay with one eye shut, Deyna realized with a lurch of his empty stomach that their escape might have to take place right under the sentry's nose… and it all hinged on the hopes that Grip hadn't drowned or been swept away in the wild currents of the Great South Stream.

The Redwall warrior shifted his weight carefully, turning so that his body would help block the rear of the net (where Grip would surely appear eventually) completely from sight. "Get ready, mate," he breathed faintly. Through his half-closed eye, he caught sight of the water rat whirling about at the sound, but he was ready for it. He let one arm hang though the holes in the net and twitched his claws as if reaching for something in the air. "The bread, mate," he mumbled loudly as if talking in his sleep. "And the butter, too. Mmmf, no, better make it plum preserves…" The rat snorted and shook his head before returning to his rounds.

For a few painfully long moments, the otters remained hanging in their rope prison and waited while the water rat continued his slow stroll around the clearing. "SNAP!" A twig cracked loudly somewhere in the woodlands. The sentry spun on his heel and froze with his spear facing the shadows of the forest. There was a rustle of leaves, then another "SNAP!" The rat growled to himself and edged into the treeline readily.

Deyna couldn't properly turn his head to watch, so he allowed his ears to pick up the sounds of Grip leading the guard further away. However, to his surprise, he and his friends had not been the only beasts waiting for the sentry to get distracted or fall asleep. Across the camp, the two hares immediately straightened up from where they had been hanging limp with their eyes shut. At a nod from his young ward, the old male turned and started to walk his footpaws up the female's side as if climbing a ladder. The Taggerung watched in fascination as the female braced herself and allowed her friend's claws to snag on her tunic and bear him upwards, until he was hanging sideways with his feet upon her head. Then with a final push, he wrapped his heels around the rowan bough and pulled himself up until he was hugging the branch.

Deyna smiled knowingly as the female started the process over again, turning to dig her footclaws into the bark of the trunk and walk upwards. The two hares then pressed themselves against the broad wooden beam until their muscles shook, fighting to bring their hearts close to the ropes and pump blood back into their drained arms. It was a classic trick. Had they only recently been bound to the tree, Deyna was sure that the companions might have easily hoisted themselves up on arm strength alone, and hooked their legs about the bough without help — but long hours with their paws overhead had likely made them numb all the way down to their shoulders, which would make such a maneuver near impossible. Now, as their prickling limbs slowly came back to life, their fingers twitched and eventually wrapped around the branch they were bound to… then the hares bent their necks to the side and started gnawing furiously at the knots around their wrists.

The Redwall warrior could not help but shake his head in admiration. He was so engrossed in watching the escape that he almost missed the faint "BUMP, WHUMP," of Grip finally knocking out the rat sentry some distance from the camp. The other prisoners heard it, too. Tikky and Tumbol stirred readily within the net. Across the clearing, the ears of the hares twitched in recognition. Though the older captive had started tearing at his bonds first, it was the female who managed to bite through her ropes the fastest. She slipped her paws free of the bindings and let go of the rowan bough, hanging with her arms dangling downward and eyes shut in delight as blood surged back into her sore limbs. Then she swung, unhooked her heels from the branch, twisted in mid-air, and landed in a crouch on the sand. Her eyes flashed as she looked over the three remaining vermin in the camp… and suddenly Deyna sensed that the rats were in danger from more than just death.


	18. Chapter 17

"Here, mates," a near-inaudible voice whispered from beneath the net. The otters looked down and saw Grip passing up the thin dagger of the disposed sentry. "I'd best deal with these others a'fore they wake up." As if to accentuate the precariousness of their situation, one of their captors snorted uneasily and rolled over in his sleep. Not far away, the male hare had finished gnawing through his bonds and dropped neatly from the tree onto his footpaws. His companion, who had been carefully rummaging through the sack of weapons that the rats had confiscated, drew out the tiny hammer and the short sword. She tossed the blade to her friend.

Deyna's fur stood on end while Tumbol began sawing at the base of the net in earnest. The hares trotted swiftly to where two of the water rats lay in slumber, then drove their knees hard into their stomachs. The vermin came awake with a wheezing "OOF," then went limp as the hammer and the sword butt slammed onto their skulls with a resounding "CRACK." Grip's target did not fare much better; the thief's eyes had barely opened at the loud noises when the shrew drove the basket hilt of his rapier right between the crony's ears.

"SHHK!" One of the ropes at the base of the net snapped under Tumbol's assault with the dagger. Tikky squirmed restlessly. "Get us outta here, sis! Oy wanted to get wanna them snivelin' rats for meself!"

The haremaid smiled grimly as she unfastened the golden hoops from the ears of the water rats. "Not to worry, old chap; you're more than welcome to stick around for their punishment."

"SHHK!" Another section of rope was sawn through. Deyna eyed the hare's work while Tumbol slithered through the hole in the net. There was something in the captive's eyes that still made the fur on his neck stand on edge. "Stealing from them won't make you any better than thieves yourselves, you know," he warned.

The she-hare set the rings carefully near the warm coals surrounding the campfire and started to help her old friend drag the vermin up against separate tree trunks. Each rat was bound with their arms stretching away around the rear of the trunk, and with their backs wedged firmly into the bark. "Who said anything about stealing, old lad? Pish, tosh! We're sendin' the blighters off with a good stiff warning."

Tikky tried to wriggle out next, but he landed with a "WHUMP," on the ground as his ankle caught in the net on his way down. "Oy'll get the sentry," he grunted eagerly. Deyna untangled his friend's footpaw and then slipped out after him. While the hares prepared their unconscious captors, Tumbol and Grip collected the supplies and possessions that had been plundered from the ketch and carried the belongings back to where the boat had been hauled up on the beach.

The Taggerung stared as he now beheld the hares at close range; their fur, which he had assumed to be mottled from far away, was actually criss-crossed by the terrible scars of a lash from the tops of their shoulders down to the backs of their knees. The eyes of the female were pitiless as she worked. The Redwall warrior swallowed his warnings and decided against chastising them directly. "My name's Deyna," he announced, extending a paw. "My friends and I are traveling south from Redwall Abbey."

The haremaid eyed his claws for a moment, then returned to her work without a word. Her mentor reached out and returned Deyna's greeting with a gentle shake. His gaze was stern, but almost sad, too… as if in apology for what his young companion had done, or was about to do. "Mondeferd Bullwight the Fifth, at your service sah. Mondy for short. The perilous lady there is Picquancy Addington Sarr—"

"Picquancy will do," the she-hare grunted. She had withdrawn a set of tongs from her haversack and was nudging the gold hoops on the rocks bordering the fire, testing to see if the metal was growing soft. She selected an earring and began tapping gently with her hammer, honing one of its edges until the tip started to resemble a narrow, needle-like spike.

"Tumbol, Grip, an' Tikky," Tumbol replied, pointing first to herself and then the rest of her companions. But her ears lay flat as she watched Picquancy tinker with the earring. "What is it you're plannin' to do, mite?"

"Justice," the she-hare growled deep in her throat. On the Nevarr's uneasy glance, she bared her teeth into a maniacal grin, then reached up and tapped a thumb against the bronze hoop in her own nose. Deyna felt his blood run cold.

"Allow me, madame," Mondy grunted to Tumbol as he lifted one of the travel packs and carried it down to the ketch on one shoulder, with a bucket in his other paw. As he went, he passed the three friends a knowing glance and jerked his head towards the shoreline. They followed without a word, leaving Picquancy engrossed in her work without a thought for what her own companion might be up to.

When he reached the vessel and set the pack firmly into the bows, Mondy glanced at the others with his ears drooping ever so slightly. "I do apologize for our rough manner, chaps," he murmured softly. "We've brushed elbows with more vermin than any beast ought to in a lifetime. I was enslaved by a warlord back in me prime; I was a brash young blighter, learned a bit of humility there. Still, I easily kept me head right. But Picquancy and her parents were captured not long after she learned to walk, and captivity at that age… I don't expect you'll understand—"

"It's alright," Deyna cut in softly. He met the hare's gaze and nodded knowingly. "I was raised by vermin myself; I've seen exactly what they're capable of."

"Yew wha'?" Tumbol and Grip stammered in the same breath. They gaped at the Redwall warrior with their mouths hanging open. Mondy, too, looked the hulking otter over as if searching for scars that would prove the story true.

"We won't stop you," Deyna continued, setting his haversack in the ketch before turning back towards the campsite. "But we won't help you, either." The aging hare splashed his bucket in the broadstream, then followed with a shrug. "Fair enough, ol' bean. It's a nasty business, if you ask me — but by gum, someone has to do it."

"Aye, nasty business," Picquancy echoed as she hammered another golden hoop before their eyes. Deyna watched the she-hare at her work for a few moments, then an idea started to form in his mind. "You should know," he added curtly. "There's a large snake roaming about Mossflower. It's more dangerous than an adder, and a lot of beasts have fallen victim to it already." His friends hummed in agreement, including Tikky as he dragged the rat sentry back into the clearing. "We're going south to find a beast who can slay this serpent, but in the meantime we'd recommend that you take refuge at Redwall Abbey. It's a safe place, with lots of food… no vermin."

He watched the hares for any reactions to this news. Mondy immediately looked interested. Picquancy's eyes remained downcast and in a stupor. "Worth a visit," she finally grunted.

Deyna and his friends smiled faintly. Grip gave both hares a sweeping bow and saluted them with his rapier, so fast that the blade whistled. "Best of luck, pals. Do be on the lookout for that scaly scumbucket!"

Mondeferd waved to them as they shoved the ketch back into the shallows. Just as they were all climbing in, one of the water rats came to: it was the leader, whom Mondy had stunned with his sword hilt. The robber chieftain caught sight of Picquancy's deadened eyes and the sharpened rings by the fire, then let out a wretched squeal. "WAAAAH! Wharra yew gonna do!? We wasn't really gonna keep yer bitties there; we was gonna give 'em back! It was just a joke, see? We— _ulp!_ "

His words caught as the tip of Mondy's blade tapped a warning on the bottom of his chin. The old hare had lost any trace of humor in his features. "Now see here, you sniveling _twit_ ," he snapped commandingly. "Great blithering villains like yourself who get their kicks from hurting otherbeasts had jolly well learn to take their medicine!"

The water rat moaned pitifully. "We-we-we was only kiddin' about choppin' up yer long ears, mates! And about roastin' yehs over a fire," he called pleadingly to the party in the boat as it was caught by the current and carried off. "Honest, we was only foolin'!"

Mondeferd caught the creature by one ear and held him firmly. "Well, my friend and I have had more than our fair share of tomfoolery from you bully types in the past, miseryguts! Let this be a lesson to you, because if our paths cross again and we find you've gone back to robbing innocent beasts, only _one_ of us will be walking away from that meeting alive, wot!"

Deyna forced himself to turn his back on the shoreline, but not before he saw Mondy setting the bucket of water beneath the rat's head, while Picquancy was approaching with a sharpened, steaming gold hoop clutched within her tongs. Though he clutched the tiller and stared straight ahead to keep the ketch steady on its course, his three friends stood gripping the gunwales with terror written on their features, gaping at the clearing until it was lost to sight around a bend in the broad-stream. The Taggerung slumped his shoulders in relief at having escaped the horrific scene… but then he flinched. Because the current may have carried them quickly away from the sight of the vermin camp, but it was not bearing them off fast enough to avoid the agonized screams that came rattling over the woodlands moments later.


	19. Chapter 18

Dawn arrived as silently and gently as ever, with the first hints of light starting to creep across the sky. Abbess Mhera, after forcing herself to roll over and doze off every time she woke to darkness, decided that the tiny glimmer was enough of an excuse to slip out of the main abbey building and climb the stairs up to the ramparts where she had spent much of the two days before. Though there were plenty of other abbeybeasts that had enjoyed keeping watch for the search parties here and there, it was she and Filorn that had never really stopped playing sentry to focus on any other duties. Thankfully, under Mhera the abbey had become a well-oiled machine and she was rarely needed elsewhere. But deep in her heart, she herself wasn't sure whether she would have left the wall-tops for long, even if there was a situation to deal with. Thinking of Deyna out there in the wilderness felt too much like a repeat of their past, when they had to live on without knowing whether he or his father were even alive.

It was therefore not much of a surprise to her when she spotted her mother already up on the ramparts that dawn, wrapped in a thick buttoned shawl. Though the summer mornings were no longer cold enough for mists to form on any creature's breath, Filorn was getting along in seasons. She still had many to come, but there was no denying that the aging ottermum was a bit more stooped than ever, and she was rarely ever over-warmed unless she sat right next to the roaring fires of the ovens or the hearth in Cavern Hole.

Instead of going straight up to the wall-top, Mhera stole away to the kitchens where Friar Bobb always had a copper kettle sitting close to the coals, and she poured two mugs of steaming pennycloud and mint tea. Only then did she join her mother to look over the rolling dew-covered grasslands to the south, where the path wound away into the distance until it appeared no larger than a piece of string. Neither of them said anything for a long time, but they had the comfort of knowing that they needn't say anything and they would still be understood. They each knew how the other felt about Deyna's absence. Still, before long, Mhera found words spilling out of her mouth anyway.

"They took supplies for two days, so they should be back today. Of course, most of them know how to forage if they needed to stay out for longer than that. But they wouldn't do that without sending some sort of messenger to us, surely."

Filorn's face calmly transformed into a smile. The wrinkles around her whiskers reminded Mhera of laterose blossoms that were often hung up to dry in the cellars, then set on display in the winter months: withering, yet beautiful. But Filorn's eyes were bright as a newborn's, and they twinkled knowingly. "Are you telling me this for my benefit, or for yours?"

The abbess blushed at the sharp mind her mother still possessed. "Both, I suppose. They would send someone, wouldn't they?" Her voice cracked, though she didn't mean for it to happen.

"My dear, either answer wouldn't satisfy. If I said no, then we would be stuck sulking at them for being so inconsiderate. And if I said yes, then we would both be consumed with worry and drive ourselves mad wondering what's keeping them away."

Mhera felt the knot in her heart loosen at the wise words, and she nodded. "You're right, of course. I trust Skipper and all the others. They'll do what's best."

"Now you're starting to sound like an abbess again."

Filorn's daughter smiled and sipped at her tea. "I suppose I haven't really been acting the part lately. The abbey is full of newcomers seeking refuge and I've been worrying myself over the finest fighting otter Mossflower has ever seen! Someone should have given me a good scolding days ago for neglecting my post."

"Redwall's been well-tended, daughter, even if you haven't been giving it your full attention. Besides… sometimes we need to recognize negligence for ourselves before we can address it properly."

Mhera sighed and sent a vapor of steam from her pennycloud and mint tea wafting out over the eastern flatlands before it disappeared. "Wherever did you learn to be so wise, I wonder?"

"I've spent many a morning out here before the rest of the abbey has started stirring. There's nothing quite like a quiet think at dawn."

"Oh-ho, a quiet think at dawn, is it? I happen to know that you fall asleep in the armchairs of Cavern Hole and stay there until long past breakfast, often as not."

The two of them chuckled at one another… then Filorn placed her teacup on the smooth warn stone of the parapet and squinted out at the horizon. "Oh Mhera, your eyes are so much younger than mine — does that look like movement out on the path to you, or is a breeze just shifting the tall grass at the horizon and tricking an old ottermum's eyes?"

Mhera had to swallow hard to keep from shouting with excitement. She peered dutifully east until her head ached from the strain, not wanting to give her mother false hope until she was certain of what she saw. "Yes! There's someone on the path out there — more than one someones, I'm certain of it! And they're so tall… it's Skipper and Deyna, it must be!" She jumped up and down so excitedly that she nearly knocked her mother's teacup off the wall-top, and only just managed to catch it after the rest of the tea splattered out over the front of the abbey. "Oh dear — perhaps some more sessions of quiet contemplation up here would do me good!"

"Well stay up here long as you like," Filorn snorted over her shoulder, already ambling for the sandstone steps leading down to the lawn. "I'm going to go give my son a proper hug!"

Mhera left the tea tray at the bottom of the stairs and raced after her mother excitedly. Together they managed to haul open one of the abbey's massive doors before trotting out onto the path, which was just starting to turn a buttery gold with the addition of the rising sun. They practically skipped along until they could make out the silhouettes of the approaching party, at which point they practically stumbled to a stop in surprise. They had expected the crowd of otters and Dillypins milling about, but before they were within shouting distance they could already see the countless dozens of Guosim shrews all running about, jumping on one another, and quarreling like madbeasts. Filorn clutched at her chest in mock horror. "Poor Friar Bobb is going to have his hands full for breakfast, I daresay," she gasped in awe.

Mhera nodded in agreement. After a moment, she spotted Skipper of Otters towering over the rest of his crew and waved eagerly, hoping her voice would carry to him over the shrill shouts of the Guosim. "Welcome home, you rascals! Did you let slip that we're feeding half of Mossflower?"

The otter chieftain caught her gaze and smiled, but didn't raise a paw to return the wave. Concerned, the abbess quickly scanned the crowd to make sure no one was missing. All the otters and hedgehogs were too close together to distinguish. She could see Boorab marching along smartly enough… and by his side, a sulking Nimbalo still wearing one of the Nevarr's wide-brimmed hats. Mhera's heart plummeted to her stomach at the sight of his expression. Suddenly she wished that she hadn't come all the way out here… that she hadn't brought Filorn, too. She clamped a paw over her mouth to stifle a cry as she looked everywhere in the approaching crowd for a sign of her strapping brother or a glimpse of the tall scruffy Nevarrs—

"Ahoy, marm!" Suddenly Ricky wriggled out from between Swash and Blekker and came sprinting up the hill towards her. She felt Filorn shudder at the sight of the abbey sword strapped around his waist, but before he had even reached them he was already holding up a paw and smiling amiably. "Deyna's right as rain, don't you worry none!"

Mhera let out a gasp of air that she didn't even realize she had been holding. She and her mother clutched weakly at one another until the eldest Nevarr skidded to a halt and loomed over them, patting their shoulders gently. She had the feeling that if they both fainted, he could probably carry them back to the abbey without much trouble. "He ain't wiv' us, but he'll be back. Bit of a long story, but he wants his sword to stay in Mossflowah. I tell ya, I've nevvah seen a streamdog so brave—"

"Stay in Mossflower?" Filorn choked in disbelief. "You mean he's leaving home? Why? Whatever for?"

"Is— isn't he going to say goodbye first?" Mhera stammered. She realized the answer as the words tumbled out, and hot tears of shame burned in her eyes for saying something so ridiculous… but suddenly she realized that Ricky had placed a paw on both her and Filorn's cheeks; her mother's lip was trembling, too. He smiled warmly, and his eyes met theirs until they were sure that there was no need to worry. Mhera remembered her father Rillflag often comforting his family the same way.

"Ain't no dangah where he's going, honest." Seeing that they were not quite satisfied, the sea otter decided to elaborate. His voice hushed as the boisterous crowed drew nearer. "He's off to find a beast that can slay a snake. A big'un. Even he gave it a go, but he ain't fast enough. Tik and Tumbol are wiv'im. The Kobarra — that's what the serpent's called — is out here somewhere. So they're really safer than us, if you ask me." He gave them a lopsided grin that showed more than a few fangs.

Mhera swallowed to hide her revulsion and glanced over the crowd. "A snake? In Mossflower?"

" 'Fraid so, Miss… er, Marm. These shrews have seen their fair share of it. Figgered I'd explain about it _and_ Deyna in one go up at the abbey… but I couldn't very well have you worryin' yourself sick all the way to brekkist, now could I?"

* * *

However, by the time most of Redwall's inhabitants had been gathered to hear the news about the serpent terrorizing Mossflower, it was nearer to afternoon tea than it was to breakfast time. Friar Bobb and Broggle had nearly been overrun as soon as Skipper brought the Guosim inside of the walls, and Mhera found herself working feverishly alongside her mother to see that enough tables were brought out to fill both Great Hall and Cavern Hole for everyone. Fortunately for all, Log-a-Log Kipling and his tribe dove in to help without a second thought: shrew cooks darted around underfoot through the kitchens like ants scurrying through burrows, carrying out dishes so quickly that once or twice Friar Bobb was actually on the verge of falling behind.

The sight of the tiny Guosim carrying platters and dishes nearly as big as themselves was a highly comical sight: sometimes they would have to haul panniers or jugs in pairs and groups of threes, but they constantly refused help from any larger beasts. Often-times arguments would break out between them, but they seemed to value the meal too highly for the a row to ever upset the flow of food rushing out of the kitchens. However, the shrews that were setting up chairs and benches instead of food were more troublesome. They were as rowdy and undisciplined as Guosim had ever been known for, and more than once a set of furniture being dragged about by five or six shrews would topple over because they would be pulling in different directions. But Log-a-Log Kipling kept them in check with nary a shout when it mattered. Skipper had taken to the old fellow immediately, and the two were standing by the hearth — Kipling actually perched atop the mantle so as to see everything — to oversee the arrangements and issue orders in the dining areas. Egburt and Floburt had the idea to lay out some old infirmary drapes along one wall for the dibbuns to dine, and the babes took to the idea of their own indoor picnic with delighted enthusiasm. Eventually (thanks to their level-headed leaders) the quarrelsome shrews, boisterous Dillypins, and irrepressible otter crew managed to arrange the seats and tables just before the meal began.

And what a meal it was. There were mountains of scones and flaky crullers with butter already melting atop their crusts; fresh sliced apples and early summer strawberries still glistening with dew; jars of honey, meadowcream, and damson and raspberry preserves; bubbling cauldrons of creamy white onion and leek chowder topped with flakes of melting white cheeses; steaming filets of grouper caught fresh from the abbey pond; the usual pans brimming with Shrimp n'Hotroot or Deeper'n Ever Turnip'n Tater'n Beetroot pie; and crispy loaves of bread of all colors — white, brown, and gold — that had been studded with shredded pine nuts, sprigs of parsley, and almonds sliced thinner than parchment.

In fact, despite the abbey brimming with more guests than Mhera had ever seen in her lifetime, the red sandstone halls fell almost completely silent once the feasting began. The shrews and Dillypins hardly made a sound; there was so much food that even the Guosim couldn't find any reason to quarrel over any of it. Despite his sullen face at all the wonderful scents wafting past him, Boorab was so hungry from the journey that he gobbled up plate after plate of chopped cabbage with gusto. And even the dibbuns, who would occasionally pause in their revelry to smear jam on one another's faces, barely grunted between bites.


	20. Chapter 19

Only once everybeast had eaten their fill of luncheon, tea, and afters did Skipper of Otters stand up with Ricky Nevarr to tell their full story about the search for Foremole Brull. Most of the abbeybeasts took the news of Deyna's quest with a hint of sadness, but also with cheerful hope that he would return swift and victorious. Skipper sent Swash and Brother Hoarg out to arrange for a round-the-clock watch on the wall-tops for their warrior's homecoming. Only one creature besides Filorn and Mhera still looked downcast once the story of the Kobarra had been told in full. Off to one side, Ricky spotted the bright orange harvest mouse Nimbalo, whom Deyna had mentioned several times to him the previous night. He knew the feisty little beast would be more than a little put off at not being included in the great quest for the Naagat-Yara, and sure enough the mouse's ears were flattened and his gaze burned with anger. Tears of sadness were glistening in his eyes, though, too. "Great coward, runnin' off without so much as a goodbye," Nimbalo growled. "And 'e knew full well I'd want to go with yeh! Leavin' me with the mams and babes, eh? Fah! Good riddance to 'im, I say!"

"Ah you kiddin'?" Ricky laughed with a wink. "Oy had to near give me left paw to convince Deyna not to take you south!"

Nimbalo looked up, and his whiskers quivered in utter indignation. "So it was _your_ doing, was it?" he snapped.

"Aye, though it hurt 'im an awful lot to leave you behind, mite, it did," Ricky confided gravely. "He said you two was the best o'mites, and that if 'e was goin' on a quest, you'd be right aftah him. But the way he carried on about all the snakes you've slain, Oy figgered you'd be our best hope for Redwall — even bettah than me!" He offered a weak smile, drooped his ears piteously, and as a final measure he even pulled his wide-brimmed sharkskin hat and set it firmly upon the mouse's head for good. "Say you'll help, mite. Oy can't protect this place alone."

Nimbalo sniffed and brushed a paw quickly against his nose and eyes to hide the tears that had been threatening to wet his cheeks. "Well, the great lolloper got that right, at least." He puffed his chest out and placed his fists on his hips. "We've fought more of those slitherin' swine than 'tis fair for a beast to meet in a lifetime — and I'd already killed 'undreds before that scrawny riverdog ever found me!"

"Oh, 'e said you were a fierce one," Ricky murmured sagely, not contesting the harvest mouse's fib. "But have you evvah fought a Kobarra?"

"Kobarra? Ha! I've slain Kobarras thick as tree trunks!" Nimbalo snatched the otter's sharkskin cap, jammed it down onto his hears, then leapt upon the nearest bench and waved an imaginary sword within his paw. "I've munched on scores of snakes for me afternoon tea! You ever had a snakeyfish pie, me ol' Ricky-dog? I've 'ad scores of 'em! Deyna, too, though he couldn't eat half as many as me."

"Izzat so?"

"You just wait, mate," Nimbalo growled with a gleam in his eye. "If that Kobarra _dares_ to show its face here, I'll skin 'is hide an' use it as curtains for me bedroom window! I'll give 'im such a thrashin' that they'll give me my very own verse in that song of the Nevarrs!"

Ricky barely had time to laugh at the idea when Broggle suddenly stepped forward and interlaced his claws together, belting out in a steady baritone.

"Oh fear Nimbalo, harvest mouse  
Who strikes Kobarras dead;  
For should a snake find him awake  
He'll chop right off its head, oh!  
He'll chop right off its head!"

All of the dibbuns burst into giggles, and within moments they had scattered about the Great Hall, chasing and pretending to behead one another.

"Ha! Got'cha, y'evil snakey! You'rra deadbeast now!"

"Hurr, oi'm not ee surpent! Oi'm ee gurt slayerbeast, burr aye!"

"Swish! I choppa off _all_ yer heads!"

"You dibbuns stop that frightful behavior this instant," Sister Alkanet snapped as she tried to gather up her wayward little flock with very little success. " _You_ two," she added with a ferocious glare at Broggle and Nimbalo. "You should know better than to introduce such an inappropriate subject around little ones!"

"Er, allow me to aid you in this most worthy task, marm." Boorab sidled up to the sister with a bashful salute. "I'll have the little rotters rounded up in no time, eh, wot!"

"Oh, no you don't," the stern little infirmary mouse rebuked him, shaking a warning claw in his face. "I know what you're up to, and you won't be getting a crust of bread out of me!"

"What? Scoff? Fiddle-faddle and rubbish to all that, marm — I merely wish to help you out of the goodness of my generous and gentle heart! Nothing but cabbage for Boorab the Fool — no, no, marm, I only wish to assist a dear physickin' friend of mine and catch all the little bounders! The nerve of the tykes, pretending to behead one another, eh! What ho, you young rogue, come back here this instant!"

The little dormouse in question had charged out of the door and onto the grounds, waving a paw in the air as if slashing imaginary foes. "I cutta da snakes heads off! Wheeee!"

Several of his friends trundled after him, but most were pudgier and slow enough for Boorab to skid in front of them and point sternly in the direction they had come. "Back inside this instant, you little rotters! Bad form disobeying the orders of a superior h'officer, wot wot! Quick's the pace and sharp's the action!"

The herd of babes slumped in disappointment as Sister Alkanet reached the hare's side, and they were ushered down the hall once more. However, Churrkin the molemaid remained to grab a corner of Boorab's harlequin tunic and tugged it urgently. "Hurr, ee likkle mouse be climbin' ee gurt steep wall-steps, zurr!" The hare whirled about and spotted his quarry ambling up the stairs to the abbey ramparts. Fortunately, the otter Swash was standing watch over the gate, and was conversing with Brother Hoarg just a few meters from where the dormouse would arrive at the top. Boorab charged across the lawn and pumped his arms up and down furiously. "I say, marm! Do stop that little blighter before he falls and breaks his neck there!"

The dibbun hopped the last step and darted over to the edge of the ramparts. Swash snatched him up just as he peered over the edge, and he let out a terrified squeal with one paw pointing out to the southeast. "EEEEEK! Two ugly vermin-rabbits a'comin'! EEEEEK!"

Boorab arrived at the base of the stairs and stamped his footpaw indignantly, with Churrkin by his side as Swash carried the babe down. "What utter poppycock, sah! Vermin-rabbits indeed. Do stop squirming, you've been caught red-handed in the act of desertion!"

The dormouse was kicking wildly when the otter maid handed him over to Boorab, and he refused to halt when Swash and Hoarg crossed the lawn to open the abbey gate. Churrkin was also shaking her little digging claw at her peer's dramatic antics. "Burr aye, an' et bees gurtly rude callin' anybeast h'ugly, mizterr Luggin!"

"Quite so, m'dear! Couldn't have said it better meself! Right, you're going to apologize to our visitors before your court-martial, young cad! Quick march now!" However, Luggin refused to march anywhere except in retreat from the opening entryway, and so Boorab was forced to carry him there under one arm. They reached the gates just as the doors cracked open and revealed the two travelers upon the road. Churrkin took one look at the scarred faces of Picquancy and Mondy, with their respective nose ring and eyepatch, then she let out a horrified squeal and collapsed into a dead faint by Brother Hoarg's feet.

Mondy was the first to act. Snatching up his canteen from where it hung on a strap over his shoulder, he wetted his paws with a trickle of cool water and then knelt to pat the abbeybabe's cheeks gently. Churrkin's eyes fluttered open and she stared up at the rugged hare kneeling over her, still half-dazed. "Hurr, are you bees goin' to eat me, zurr?"

"Pish tosh, Missy, what sort of a question is that!" the old traveler exclaimed as he gently helped her to sit up. "Eat you? Humph! Why, my friend and I don't go about munching on other creatures any more than you do! Besides, you're far too pretty to scoff up." Churrkin shamelessly let her eyes rove over the ancient hare's mottled visage and wiped her digging claws across her brow. "Hurt, then oy bees sore relieved. Oy'm deeply a'feared o'bein' etted, so oy am, burr aye."

Finally recovering from the shocking appearance of his two kin beasts, Boorab straightened up considerably and held the cringing Luggin out to face the visitors. "See there, you bounder: these creatures are nothin' to be afraid of, nor to go yelling great whopping insults about, wot wot! Apologize this instant, sah!"

The dormouse squirmed in the bard's powerful grasp and wrinkled his nose at the hares when he beheld them up close. "Nyaa, sorry I said you was uglybeasts! Pu'mee down!"

Picquancy crossed her arms at the obstinate dibbun and tapped the bronze hoop hanging from her nostrils.. "Can hardly blame you, laddie buck. Why, if you tried sporting one of these great clanking things, I wouldn't hesitate to call you right ugly meself!"

This announcement confused the abbeybeasts into utter silence for a moment. Luggin stared with a mixture of anger and awe at the scruffy haremaid. He had never met an adult creature willing to trade insults before. "Yew would not," he gasped.

"Would too, fuzzyface — so there!" she snapped back, paws akimbo, and she stuck out her tongue for good measure. Mondy slapped her forearm reprovingly. "Watch your manners, Picquancy! You'll behave yourself at once, and that's an order!"

But Churrkin, having lost all her fear at the moment that she learned the guests were not flesh-eaters, trundled curiously over to the she-hare and pulled gently on the brown cord hanging from her sandy robes. "Hurr, marm, iffen'ee don't liker ring inn'ee nose, why does'ee wurr'et?"

The mottled haremaid crouched down until she was face-to-face with Churrkin, made her long ears droop tragically, and adopted a flawless imitation of the kindly dibbun's form of speech. "Hurr, et weren't moy fault, mizz. A gurt mean stoat punched moy nose so'ard, hizz bronze ring stuck in'et ferr good, burr aye!" The molemaid stared in wonder and reached out to touch the infamous metal hoop, waggling it carefully to see if the story was true.

"Oy, Churrkin, don't be tuggin' on that," Swash cut in quickly. But Picquancy waved the otter off with a paw and swept the babe up into her arms. "Fah! I've had much larger beasts than this little tyke hanging off me hooter, wot!" She tapped the mole dibbun's pudgy stomach and narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "Looks to me as if you're in charge around here, Miss Churrkin! I don't suppose you've kitchens in this great pink castle — I'm flippin' well famished, wot wot! Lead me to the blinkin' grub!"

And with that, she marched off pointedly and left the other creatures in the dust, staring after her in total bemusement. Even Mondeferd was shaking and scratching his head. "I say. Never seen anything like that in all me born days," he mumbled in a puzzled voice. Boorab had also nearly forgotten the little dormouse wriggling out from under his arm; he was trying to shake off the memory of the she-hare's sharp gaze and easy, loping gait. Beside them, Brother Hoarg chuckled and ushered Mondy into the abbey grounds before closing the massive gate. "What? A maid and a babe, my friend? T'is the oldest sight in the world."


	21. Chapter 20

Though by his own admission Grip was more familiar with the northern River Moss than the Great South Stream, the territory of the Guosim shrews was expansive enough that he was a decent guide, and he knew roughly as much about the waterway from his elders as the Nevarrs did after their single trip upstream that had brought them to the abbey. Between the three of them, Grip and the sea otter siblings kept their craft well out of danger — though their arguments and petty squabbles often turned into shouting matches that would frighten scores of birds off the riverbanks. Mossflower shrews had a reputation for being quarrelsome beasts, but it seemed that the Nevarr sea otters could match them in contradictory nature. Deyna more than once had to act as peacekeeper between his trio of guides, who were cuffing one another about the ears one minute, and then laughing and singing jovial ditties the next. The warrior of Redwall was secretly grateful that there were no major splits or tributaries in the river that might warrant any crucial decisions or changes in direction; according to both Grip, Tikky, _and_ Tumbol, the Great South Stream would bring them more or less straight to the Western Sea without even a sharp split in the river. He would be horrified to think of the argument that might break out between his companions if there was.

On their first morning after their encounter with the river-rats, Grip swatted Deyna's forearm pointedly. "Alright, mate, you brought this upon yourself, you know. Do you mean to tell us how you came to be raised by vermin? Or was that just a kind lie for that mad old hare?"

"I almost wish it _was_ a lie, mate," the Taggerung admitted grudgingly with an amiable shrug. "It's a bit difficult to explain… and it's going to be years until the recorders at Redwall have gotten all the accounts written down and organized to tell the tale properly. There were a lot of beasts involved besides just me."

"Well, tell us your side of it," Tikky proffered. He fixed his paws behind his head and stretched out for a rest. "Nothin' bettah than a good story on a voyage like this'un."

Eventually Deyna gave into their coaxing, and he spent a good portion of the next few hours recounting his childhood to his friends — and to their credit, Grip and the Nevarrs were excellent listeners. Except for occasional questions to clarify parts of the story, the trio was uncharacteristically silent for him. Even so, it still took hours upon hours to do the long yarn justice. It was time well-spent, too. By the time the tale was finished, their first full day upon the river had reached its end, and Tumbol claimed the first watch at the tiller. She and her brother planned to keep the ketch floating downstream even through the nights, to speed them on their journey. When asked whether there could be a danger of rocks ahead that might not be spotted in the night, the she-otter smiled and shook her head eagerly. "We only 'ad to shore the _Lily_ and walk past one set o'rapids on our way up," she assured Grip. "They ain't nothin' to be a'feared of, but Oy hope to be good an' ready before Oy face 'em. We'll be fairly close to the sea by then. You'll see the spray up ahead, even in the dahk, so rouse the ship iffin' you spot any white water a few days from now."

* * *

That night when Deyna awoke to take the third shift, he rolled over to find that Tikky had been staring straight at him from his seat by the tiller. The Redwall warrior pushed himself into a sitting position and whispered to the sea otter in a voice that was only just audible over the rippling water running by. "Everything alright, pal? You look as if you're sitting on a hornet."

The cheeky Nevarr was uncharacteristically solemn. He edged to one side and allowed the Taggerung to take the tiller, but made no move to spread himself in the belly of the vessel to rest just yet. His eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Just tryin' to figger you out, mite."

"Figure me out? How so?"

Tikky snorted and crossed his arms, settling his back against the gunwale. "You said you was raised by Juska vermin," he hissed. "Taught to be the best assassin alive or summat, yeah?"

Deyna's shoulders slumped at the mention of his past. He didn't like re-living the memories, but he didn't want to be rude to his friend, either. He nodded solemnly. "More or less."

"But then you left, 'cuz you didn't like killin'."

"That's right."

"Why not?"

The question was so unexpected that Deyna's jaw fell open for a few long moments, and he stared at his companion with a mixture of confusion and horror. "What do you mean, 'why not'? It's a horrible thing. Don't you agree?"

"Well o'course Oy do," Tikky assured him with a quick wave of his paw. "But Oy'd wagah an acorn to an oak, those vermin didn't teach you to have pity. So who did?"

The hackles on the back of the Taggerung's neck rose dangerously at the Nevarr's probing tone. He struggled to keep the hint of a warning rumble out of his voice. "I'm an otter, Tik. They were vermin. Otters are peaceful beasts."

"Evil an' kindness ain't bred, Deyna: they're taught," Tikky growled back. "Who taught you, eh? There's more to the story, ain't it. Oy seen goodbeasts turned bad, an' evil creatures taught a bit o'good. You wasn't just _born_ wiv' a good heart."

Deyna's paw was clamped so hard around the tiller that the leather binding groaned under his grip, and he released it in surprise when he realized that his knuckles had turned white. He slumped under Tikky's shrewd gaze, then turned and looked down on the sleeping forms of Tumbol and Grip: both figures were curled up and still in their cloaks, rocked by the waves like slumbering dibbuns. "It's not a story I'm proud of," he breathed, nearly too low to hear. "I'd almost prefer to forget it… I'm not sure if I'll ever tell it to anybeast back at Redwall. Not the recorders, maybe not even my family."

Tikky bowed his head in respect of his friend's rueful tale. "Iffin' Oy'm the only creature to ask, you needn't bothah anyone else wiv' it."

The abbey warrior sighed and let the air deflate from his lungs bit by bit. His mind roved through the long-buried memories that the Nevarr's questions had stirred up. Eventually, he spoke. "I suppose it happened just a few seasons after I had started to walk… a little older than the dibbuns back at Redwall. I had already learned plenty from Sawney and his followers. They treated me like a prince, and I liked it. I was probably a spoiled brat, though I can't remember for certain… it was so long ago.

"I'd been taught how to shoot an arrow almost before most creatures ever learn to so much as throw a stone. On my very first real hunt, I slew a starling and saw the life leave its eyes. Watching it die didn't sit right in my stomach, but everyone else acted like I'd just won a great battle, so I didn't tell them about how I felt. I assumed that my guilt was just something that everybeast felt when they killed… something that I had to ignore, or out-grow. Especially because I was supposed to be the tribe's greatest warrior. Sawney always told me that I was special, that I had to be stronger than anybeast because of what I was. And there weren't any other otters in the tribe, so being the Taggerung, being an riverdog…" Deyna shrugged. "To me, they were almost the same thing.

"Then one day some of the scouts came back from a raid. It hadn't been any planned sort of battle, or Sawney would have made sure to take me along to witness the 'glory' of combat… his hunters had caught a small family of otters on the shore. Juska didn't normally take prisoners — in fact we rarely ever ran into other creatures besides more vermin, most seasons — but apparently Sawney had ordered the clan to bring him an otter alive, if they ever found one. He wanted me to learn how to swim properly. I was already better than any of his vermin at it, but he wanted me to be the best of any creature alive, including my own kind.

"The scouts brought an old ottermum into the camp. She was the first real riverdog I'd truly ever seen before. I'd always assumed that they lived in other clans of thieves and rogues, just like me… and for a second, I thought Sawney was going to offer her a place amongst the Juska. But then I heard that the scouts had killed the rest of her family in the raid. I didn't understand that; Sawney never ordered families of foxes or rats to be massacred. We'd captured a few vermin before in the past, but they always fought back and snapped and glared at their guards. Sometimes Sawney would test them, and allow them to join his horde. But whenever he talked of defeating woodland creatures — voles, hedgehogs, and such — he always bragged about how easy they were to slaughter. When I heard that his beasts had killed a pack of otters like that…" His paws clenched into fists. "That was when I first realized that I was a truly different beast from the rest of the Juska. I started to wonder how much of their kindness to me was only due to the prophesy that made me the Taggerung."

Deyna winced as the memories flooded back afresh. "Sawney had the old ottermum tied and hobbled… and all he did was shout at her, and tell her that she was a slave to the tribe now, and that she was going to teach me to swim or she would be punished. She cried the whole time. I'd never seen vermin do that before, male or female. In the Juskarath, crying was a sign of weakness. But she just stood there quietly and didn't bother trying to stop."

The abbey warrior drew a paw across his face, feeling where his old tattoos had been. "In the weeks that followed, I never saw her so much as glare at anybeast. She never got angry, and always did what the guards told her to. At first I thought that meant she was weak, or somehow slow-witted… but she worked hard, at all the tasks they piled on her besides tutoring me. In time, I realized that she was smart. Especially once she started teaching me how to swim. She wasn't usually allowed in the water, and she was always under heavy guard, but she taught me a lot — about river currents, ocean tides, catching fish… Sawney always kept an eye on our sessions. She was very reserved, but I remember a few times when she actually smiled at me."

Deyna shivered. "It felt wonderful when she did. It wasn't like the smile of a Juska beast, always wanting something in return. I knew it meant that she was just proud of me." He looked up at the stars, as if seeking a sign to guide him on with his story. "I only spoke with her privately one time. We were waist-deep out in the ocean… she was still hobbled, and Sawney had his best archer trained on her from a high rock. We were far enough out of earshot that I asked her why she never fought back. She told me that some otters were warriors like me, but that they never killed for fun. She said that killing other creatures hurts your heart… and that reminded me of the first starling that I had slain.

"After that, I realized there were plenty of ways to defeat my enemies or teach them a lesson without having to harm them or take their lives. If the old ottermum could live that way, I certainly could. In fact, she had practically shamed her guards so that they stopped beating her… because she was so obedient, and in time everyone knew that she didn't really deserve any of the blows. Injuring her only hindered her ability to work. So they just settled themselves with ordering her around. But for all that, they never really cared about her."

Deyna drew in a shuddering breath and shut his eyes tight, trying to banish the tears that were threatening to spill out from behind his eyelids. "She caught fever at the first winter frost of that year. Nobeast had bothered to give her a cloak or a blanket for the night. When the guards tried to rouse her for work the next dawn, she was already near-frozen to death. A healthy creature might have survived, with a bit of proper care… but she was probably old enough to be my grandmum, and she was half-starved already. I tried to convince Sawney that she had more to teach me, but he thought her usefulness had run its course."

The former Taggerung hung his head and almost didn't bother to watch the waters up ahead in order to steer the _Lily_ along the broadstream. "Watching her die hurt even worse than watching the starling. Maybe I could have ignored the pain of it in my heart, if I hadn't been the only otter in the Juska. Maybe I wouldn't have cared at all, if I had been a stoat, or a weasel… or if she had been some other beast, like a squirrel… But I was an otter, and she was an otter. The closest thing I'd ever had to kin. I couldn't help but see myself in her, and when they didn't even bother with a proper burial…" Deyna sucked in a breath of the sharp night air and straightened up with a grim expression visible on his face, even in the dark. "I saw what they really thought of me. And I vowed that, Taggerung or not, I would rather die like a riverdog than live like a vermin murderer. It wasn't until ages later that I realized I wouldn't be able to stay with the Juska if I intended to keep my word."

The Redwall warrior ran his thumb along the leather-bound tiller and finally chanced a glance up at his listener, trying to read the glint in Tikky's bright sea otter eyes. "So that's my story, mate. Does it sound silly, do you think? Vowing to be a warrior that doesn't actually kill otherbeasts?"

"Not in the slightest, Deyna," the Nevarr replied without hesitation. He lifted himself up with a groan and crawled into the belly of the ketch beside his sister, then curled up on his cloak and yawned until moonlight glinted off of every white tooth in his gaping maw. "Not in the slightest."


	22. Chapter 21

"Good thing we ran into each other, Churrkin, me 'ol chum," Picquancy told the molemaid in her arms as she marched pointedly up the steps to the main abbey building. "Now that I'm fast friends with the mole in charge of this bloomin' big abbey, the cooks will have to give me all the scoff I want! You will make them, won't you, pal? Me and the old senior h'officer have been on a quick march for the past twelve hours trying to reach this bally place. Wouldn't be surprised if I die of hunger before nightfall."

But the dibbun's dark-furred cheeks had turned severely rosy, and she tugged the hare's collar firmly. "Oy b'ain't in charge of ee'gurt h'abbey, marm. You'm be wantin' to see h'abbess Mhera."

"Is that so, m'dear? She sounds like a dreadful frightening beast. Ah, well; I suppose we must find her if I'm to get a crumb to eat. Do say you'll protect me."

"Hurr hurr hurr, don't ee fret, marm; she'm bees'n awful nice creature, burr aye." At the dibbun's guidance, Picquancy made her way up to the dormitories where the abbess was sometimes known to be.

True to the molemaid's prediction, Mhera was lingering within the old bedroom that used to belong to Cregga Badgermum, stroking the sides of the old armchair and running her paws along the shelves to ensure they were not growing dusty. "I do hope Deyna and the others are safe," she murmured aloud, as if conversing with her ancient friend. "I know I mustn't worry too much about them; there's a lot happening here for me to oversee. But I do worry about Deyna all the same. You know how many seasons Mother and I spent alone, thinking… thinking…" she sniffed and quickly wiped a tear from her eye when it threatened to drip down her cheek and onto her abbess robes. "Still, I am frightened, Cregga. With so many beasts pouring into the abbey, and such a dangerous creature lurking out in the woodlands… I feel so helpless. What would you do if you were here?"

She stopped at the window and looked out over the green summer lawn, noticing with a smile that Ricky and Nimbalo were wrestling and splashing one another like wild dibbuns in the muddy shallows of the abbey pond.

"Hurr, thurr she'm bees, marm. We'm founded'err!" Mhera turned and immediately swallowed the yelp that threatened to leap from her throat, finding the most terrifying hare that she had ever seen in her life standing in the open doorway. However, the sight of Churrkin the molemaid sitting delightedly in the visitor's arms immediately calmed the frightened abbess somewhat.

"There she is indeed, old pal. Well done; you ought to go into the Long Patrol as a tracking scout, Private Churrkin!" The perilous she-hare dealt Mhera a sweeping bow. "Picquancy Addington Sarrowbale, at'cher service, madame! Just came in from the wide old wilderness and all that. Heard there might be a great bloomin' snake about!"

"Yes, there is," Mhera admitted as soon as she found her voice again. She very nearly had to suppress a squeak in her throat as she spoke. "All gentlebeasts are welcome to find sanctuary with us until the threat is dealt with."

"Capital idea, marm. Jolly good thinking, taking in defenseless civilians. As for meself, thought I might offer my services round here as tinkerer, laborer, and lullaby-singer extraordinaire!"

The otter maid's shocked face finally broke into a smile, and she chuckled. "That's quite a repertoire. I've never heard of a lullaby-singer extraordinaire before."

Picquancy passed her a wily wink. "Secret weapon, ol' chum; there's nary a little rip with their eyes open by the time I'm done with 'em! I can sing 'em off to dreamland better than your dear old auntie!"

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of need for that skill very soon," Mhera chuckled as footsteps echoed down the hall. "We have more and more families arriving with their babes every week."

"By the left, Picquancy, do warn a chap before you go boltin' off into unfamiliar territory like that, eh, wot!" the she-hare's mentor huffed as he climbed the final step in the corridor and glared at her with his one good eye. "Bad form, I must say!"

Boorab, Swash, and Brother Hoarg were right behind him. The aging abbey recorder peered through the doorway and blinked his eyes at the dust mites that were drifting about in shafts of afternoon sunlight. "Oh there you are, Mhera. Whatever are you doing here in Cregga's room?"

The ears of both visiting hares immediately shot upright, and they stared around the chamber. Picquancy appeared to be dumbstruck, but Mondy edged forward with visible eagerness. "Lady Cregga Rose-Eyes?" he gasped. "You mean to tell me the old badgermum's still around and kicking? She must be flippin' ancient by now, wot!"

"She was," the abbess admitted with a wince, hoping to let the two warriors down as gently as she could. She placed a gentle paw on Mondy's scar-riddled shoulder. "She passed on just over three seasons ago now. Strong as ever, even without her eyesight. A vermin archer shot her while she was on the ramparts."

The faces of her guests changed immediately. Mondy looked both heartbroken and angered… but Picquancy, even with a dibbun in her arms, looked so deadened that only the flash in her eyes told the otter maid that this was a dangerous subject. "And what, may I ask, happened to said archer?" the she-hare inquired stiffly.

Mhera reached out and plucked the molemaid from Picquancy's grip, then set her gently on the floor and patted her towards the hallway. "Churrkin, do be a dear and go warn Friar Bobb that we've two more guests for dinner tonight. And be sure to mention that they're hares, so he's well-prepared!" Only after the dibbun had skipped off did she turn and meet the warrior maiden's perilous gaze evenly. "He was dealt with," she replied in a measured tone.

Without Churrkin or any other abbey babes in the chamber, Picquancy's expression was fast fading into nothingness. She gazed at Mhera through half-closed eyes, gave a half-hearted curtsy, then slipped out into the corridor without a word. The otter maid remained riveted to the spot, with one paw instinctively clutching at her chest as if she had just stared death directly in the face. Mondy shuffled closer as his ward's footstep echoed fainter and fainter until they were gone. "I do beg you to excuse my friend, marm," he mumbled with a droop of his long scruffy ears. "She won't harm any goodbeast, you've my word as a Bullwight on it."

"She frightens me," Mhera blabbed suddenly without thinking. She clamped a paw over her mouth and shot the old hare an apologetic glance, but he just nodded in agreement. "That she does, indeed; I'm sometimes frightened of her meself, eh, wot!"

"I say, old lad," Boorab inquired as he also started to regain his voice with the others. "What's a bally beauty like that got to sulk about anyway?"

The five of them turned and started to make their way down to Cavern Hole together, as Mondy explained Picquancy's childhood, which had been largely spent in the brutal captivity of a vermin band. "She managed to keep out of trouble for the most part; kept her head down and all that. Well. To be frank, chaps, she didn't make it out whole again, y'might say," he narrated in a low voice. "I was snagged by the same warlord when I was a young strappin' buck, you see. Lost an eye and a fair bit of pride under his lash. Poor Picquancy grew up in that camp, goodness knows how many seasons, until t'was just the two of us left. I'd sworn an oath to slay our captor first chance I got, and I finally managed to get loose in the middle of a battle with some other enemy horde. I charged that ugly stoat quick as the devil himself, and put an end to his reign. Kept fightin' every blinkin' vermin I saw, until I took a nasty blow to the head from a fox with a pike… but somebeast must've finished him off before he could slay me proper. I awoke with his dead eyes staring at me the next morning."

Mhera shuddered as he continued: "I found Picquancy then, near dead on the battlefield with an arrow in her chest. The only reason she was still alive was because the blaggards had chained her to a flippin' wagon to haul their weapons about… she'd been stuck in the crossfire as evil beasts waged war around her. The old yoke kept her hanging upright instead of letting her fall over and depart peacefully. Thought she was dead meself until she opened her eyes."

"How utterly dreadful," Brother Hoarg commented with a tremor in his voice.

Mondy nodded. "A kindly pair of old moles found me rummaging for herbs to put on the wound, and they took us in while she healed. Fine creatures, moles; I tell you, it was the first time either of us had smiled for who knows how long. I thought perhaps we could start our lives anew after we left there…" The old hare shook his head, and his whiskers drooped. "Our smiles faded almost as soon as we set out, though. Too many memories and all that. Never thought I'd see her come out of it until today — by the left, I've never seen her take to anybeast as quickly as she did those babes of yours! Why, she was _barely_ well-mannered with your friends on the broadstream the other night."

Mhera's heart skipped a beat. She grabbed Mondeferd's paw eagerly. "Friends? Do you mean it was three otters that warned you about the poisonous snake?"

"And a Guosim shrew, I believe, yes. Not to worry, marm; your pals are right as rain, if that's what you're wondering." The scarred old hare decided against frightening the abbess with mention of the water rats, and he gave her an assuring smile instead. "I should think they can jolly well take care of themselves — especially that great strapping freshwater fellow. Dinny, or whatever his name was: the chap who said he was raised by vermin."

The otter maiden's eyes widened. "He told you about that?"

"That he did, marm… though I daresay, I'm baffled as to how the blighter got out of the ordeal without so much as a scratch, wot! Rotten showoff."

"I suppose he brought it up for Picquancy's sake. It's a very long story."

"That I've no doubt, m'dear."

They drifted into Cavern Hole to find an utterly chaotic sight. Abbeybeasts, Dillypins, and all the other Mossflower visitors were pouring into the room with wild shouts, tugging at one another excitedly and bumping elbows as the chamber grew very nearly full. Boorab let out a cry of dismay at the sight of Nimbalo in the corner near the hearth, tugging in frustration at the bard's haredee-gurdy. The indignant hare sprang over to him and slapped his paws away from the contraption. "I say, what's the meaning of this! Insolent bounder, abusing my delicate instrument! If you bally well want lessons, you'd better ask, wot! Speak up, sah!"

The harvest mouse, who was still damp from his frolic in the pond, planted his fists on his hips. "I was tryin' to blow on that horn in the middle there," he declared without a hint of apology in his voice. "To quiet down the place!"

"Capture everyone's attention? Nothing to it, ol' bean! Just watch a Baggscutt at his trade!" Boorab planted his lips at the narrow end of a twisted brass horn in the tangled mess and let out a squeaky "TWOODLE-OO!" which was nowhere near loud enough to be heard over the rest of the din.

Mhera lingered in the doorway with her paws clamped over her ears, and she looked about hurriedly and said to the first beast she saw, "Oh Ricky, please do something!" Needing no second bidding, the burly sea otter planted a pair of claws into his mouth and blew out a sharp whistle. Everybeast in the cavern flinched at the shrieking sound, and the ruckus promptly subsided. The abbess let out a shuddering breath of relief and passed the eldest Nevarr a grateful glance. "Now," Mhera began, shaking her head at the room's inhabitants. "I've no idea why it is every creature in Redwall has chosen to invade Cavern Hole at the same time, but I suggest the beast who _does_ know ought to raise a paw immediately."

Several sets of claws shot into the air at once, and a few raucous Dillypins hollered out until their loved ones clamped their muzzles shut. Near the front of the throng, Broggle shuffled forward with Fwirl clutching his arm. The pair of squirrels could not have looked more different: one with a face so red that he was nearly hiding his face in his apron; and the other bouncing so excitedly that it looked as if she might burst. "It was us, it was us!" the squirrel maid chirped eagerly.

Mhera raised an eyebrow. "You called a meeting in Cavern Hole? Whatever for, Broggle?"

The portly cook peered bashfully up at her, blushing so much that the old stammer from his childhood was beginning to creep unbidden into his speech. "W-w-we just, er, that is to s-say, all of y-y-you ought to find-d-d out tog-g-geth…"

"Speak up, Broggle me ol' terror," Skipper called, slapping a paw on his rudder with a harsh "WHACK" that jerked the young squirrel out of his stupor.

"W'gonavabay," he yelped, and Fwirl burst into a fit of giggles.

Boorab shook his head in amusement. "First you're too slow, now you're too fast, laddie buck. Give it another shot, wot."

At her husband's pleading glance, Fwirl jumped on her tip-paws and wrapped her arms around Broggle's neck as she squealed out for all to hear: "We're going to have a baby!"


	23. Chapter 22

The Nevarrs were hardened travelers. They kept the voyage going at almost all hours, and would merely slip overboard and dart about the thin ketch for a swim whenever their muscles grew sore from sitting for too long. And they encouraged the others to do the same. Grip was no otter, but the Guosim were admirable swimmers and he had a delightful time bobbing about with a line from the vessel fastened to his waist. This even inspired the Nevarrs before long, and so occasionally one of them would fasten a line to the prow of the longboat and pull the craft along with the other knotted end of the rope clutched in their paws or sometimes between their molars. Deyna could only smile and imagine how some of the abbeybeasts might have reacted: Sister Alkanet would certainly have berated them and insist that they would lose their teeth at an early age if they kept it up.

The haggering pace may not have been maintainable on land, but with the river doing most of the work, even Grip had to admit that he was impressed with how quickly they were traveling. The longboat only stopped once after three days along the entire journey, when Tikky emerged from one of his swims with an exceptionally-plump catfish wriggling in his arms. By then it was nearing the end of their third day since they'd encountered the water rats, and it felt even longer than that because they'd been traveling through the nights as well. After finding a peaceful inlet on the edge of a patch of marshland, the four friends finally set their footpaws on the shore to stretch and have their first hot meal since they left the abbey.

Deyna felt a strange mixture of homesickness and comfort as he sprawled out beside the glowing coals where the fish was roasting on a green willow spit. Having spent years searching for somewhere to belong, his time at Redwall had been precious beyond measure to him. He missed his mother, his sister, his friends, and of course the legendary abbey cooking. However, he was far from uncomfortable in the present circumstances. He was living as he had always grown up: sleeping under the stars, living on the move, passing through new territory. And this time, the beasts who were with him were good friends rather than quarrelsome Juska.

A faint smile crept across the Taggerung's lips, and he smirked where he sat. Well, perhaps his companions _were_ just as quarrelsome as the Juska… but they certainly weren't as bloodthirsty.

"No, mite, you don't put any seasonin' on until it's halfway _finished_ ," Tikky was snapping at Grip as he rotated the willow spit.

He smacked the shrew's fistful of herbs away, but the Log-a-Log's son was hardly cowed by this. "Aw go boil yer tail, you great pudding-headed bumpkin! How else is the fish meat gonna soak up the flavor? We ought to sprinkle this wild ramson on it while it's roasting — otherwise there's no point to adding the herbs at all!"

Deyna glanced up as Tumbol emerged from the riverbank, using her cloak to carry an armful of fresh pennywort and watercress that had been growing at the river's edge. She plopped down beside the Redwall warrior and laid the cloth out as if for a picnic, then gnawed on one of the plant stalks and ignored the two bickering cooks by the fire's edge. Seeing that the Nevarrs weren't going to make any further effort to create something salad-like, Deyna selected a pawful of the greens for himself. However, just as he was opening his mouth to eat, an unsettling "CRRRROAK," to his left made him leap upright in surprise. The others were on their footpaws in a flash as well, and they stared as a mottled slimy frog waddled cautiously out of the bushes. His unblinking eyes looked them all over before settling on the roasting catfish. "CRRRROAK."

His pasty throat swelled until it was almost transparent when he made the sound. He ambled towards the fire and reached for the end of the spit. Tikky quickly grabbed the other tip first and yanked the rod off the fire, out of the warty amphibian's reach. "Aw, no ya don't. You gotta introduce yesself first, mite."

The frog blinked with a set of glistening eyelids before waddling around towards the otter again: Grip had to leap out of the way before he was trampled under the marsh creature's webbed feet. "Oy, watch where you're goin', you slimy git!"

"We're lucky that fish smells bettah than us," Tumbol muttered to Deyna through a mouthful of watercress. "We've more'na few friends who've nearly been eaten by tribes o'these little wretches." *

Tikky bared his teeth and held up a paw as the impatient intruder approached. "You heard me. This ain't yours!" But the grubby amphibian merely strained against him and reached eagerly for the fish, trying to hop up and snag a meal for himself.

Tikky had had enough. With one paw still holding the fish out behind himself, he balled the other into a tight fist. "WHACK!" He swung at the frog's mottled jaw and sent it rolling away between the trees and out of sight. He wiped the creature's grime from his knuckles onto his kilt in disgust. "Nasty little fing…"

"CRRRROAK." The sound of more frogs deep in the marshland made him pause. A faint wind rustled through the ferns and the bushes all around them… or was it really the wind?

"CRRRROAK."

Grip quickly scaled the side of a gnarled hawthorne trunk and peered into the swamp. He held one paw between his eyes and the fire so that his eyes could adjust to the growing shadows of dusk… and then his face paled. "Run for it, pals!"

Needing no second bidding, Tumbol snatched her cloak and bolted for the ketch, scattering pennywort and watercress everywhere. Deyna was right behind her after a moment, deciding to trust the Guosim shrew as the sound of more and more creeping creatures approached from the murky forest. He ran beneath the hawthorne on his way to the riverbank, arms outstretched. "Jump, Grip!"

The shrew hopped into his paws without protest and scrambled onto his shoulders. Behind them, Tikky was still brandishing the fish on its spit and had drawn his hatchet with the other paw. Tumbol shrieked at him from where she stood with her shoulder against their longboat, shoving with all her might to get it back into the water. "Tikky, you bandy, get outta there!" The sudden appearance of six glistening lidless eyes in the darkness made the older Nevarr realize that his little sister might be right. He whirled about and charged for the inlet. Moments later a pair of frogs hopped into the clearing, followed soon by an additional toad. More croakings and gurglings were still coming from within the dingy marshland behind them, closing in fast around the vessel that had yet to budge from the shoreline.

"Oy can't move it," Tumbol screeched from up against the ship's hull as her footpaws kicked up chunks of mud from the bank. Deyna reached her side, clamped his paws on the ketch's bow, and heaved. The boat slid into the water so suddenly that Tumbol fell backwards into the shallows headfirst. She rolled onto her side and scrambled upright, spluttering and splashing, then returned to her position at the prow to help to turn the vessel around and push it out of the inlet. Behind them, the clearing was almost entirely filled with the advancing tribe of amphibians, which seemed intent on overwhelming the newcomers by sheer numbers. A few of them reached the water's edge and hopped in, only to find themselves facing a very angry Nevarr who was still defending his supper. "SMACK!" "BONK!" Tikky was swinging his hatchet and striking the invaders with the blunt back end, knocking them senseless and kicking their limp bodies back towards the shore. "Take that, you ugly goons! An' that! If your faces weren't already flat, Oy'd pummel 'em wiv' me ruddah and _squash_ 'em flat! Git!"

One or two frogs slipped into the inlet from the side and darted towards the ketch as quick as fish. Leaning over the gunwales, Grip darted to and fro with his rapier and sent it flashing down on their shadowy forms like a switch. Deyna and Tumbol had snatched the lead ropes fastened to the longboat's prow and swam ahead of it towards the river with the lines clutched tight in their paws. The Redwall warrior dove to the bottom of the inlet and dug his claws against the rocky ground, heaving the vessel towards the current. He could taste the fresher water as they drew close to it.

Tumbol's head broke the churning surface and she twisted around to holler at her brother where he was still lingering in the shallows. "Tik! Move it, before you're surrounded!"

The elder Nevarr glanced at the swamp creatures that were closing in on both sides, then at the increasing distance between himself and the ketch as its prow hit the edge of the river. He shoved his hatchet into his belt and dove backwards into the water, holding the spitted catfish aloft like a precious trophy. Many of the frogs splashed into the inlet after him, ribbiting and croaking uproariously as their prize bobbed away over the waves.

"Throw it here, matey!" Grip called with a wild wave of his arms when Tikky surfaced. The sea otter gave a quick wriggle to force the rest of his arm and shoulder above the surface of the water, then cast the spit towards the vessel like a javelin. The Guosim shrew sidestepped and caught the missile neatly in both paws.

Tikky barely had time to reach the ketch and grab hold of the gunwale before the hard current of the Great South Stream hit it full force. With two otters towing it deeper into the river's center and further downstream from the inlet, the vessel picked up speed immediately. Behind them, a few daring frogs swam out from the marshlands to grapple at Tikky's tail — but the Nevarr easily yanked out of their grasp and snapped his fangs in warning. Before long the amphibians realized that their distance from the shoreline and the rest of their tribe was increasing. Without sheer numbers to overtake their quarry, and with the increasing danger of larger fish that might be lurking in the murky depths, the intruders soon began to dart back to the inlet in grudging defeat. There they trundled onto the muddy banks, shook grubby webbed fists at their disappearing quarry, then vanished one by one back into the dingy marshlands.

With the last of the frogs finally vanishing in retreat, the three otters hauled themselves back into the boat and flopped down dripping in the belly of the vessel. Grip was obliged to take the rudder without remark, and he steered them downstream while he examined the half-roasted catfish in his other paw. "See, this here," he remarked to Tikky with a wry grin. "This is exactly why you put the spices on _early_."

The panting Nevarr waved him away with a roll of his eyes. Beside him, Deyna sat up and shook himself dry in a matter of moments. Hauling the ketch back into the river had hardly put a strain on him at all, and he was barely out of breath. "The fire must have attracted them in the first place. They were quite nasty, weren't they?"

"Oy can't believe we missed 'em on our way up to Redwall," Tumbol gasped as she remained lying on her back. "We had to carry the ketch ovah-head on the banks when we hit the rapids. Lucky we was on the othah side of the rivvah, eh Tikky?"

"Oy," her brother sighed. He propped himself up on one elbow and eyed the spitted fish that Grip was still holding. "Think we can still eat it, mite?"

Deyna took the tiller while Grip prodded the meat with his rapier and sniffed it cautiously. "Looks alright to me."

"The meal may have to wait, friends," Deyna murmured in concern as his ears picked up a distant hissing and rumbling up ahead. He eyed the rushing waters on either side of the vessel and noted that they were traveling at near breakneck speeds. "I think we're coming up on those rapids."

* * *

* _New changes courtesy of Lepidolite Mica's recommendation; I had forgotten to explain why the frogs were actually dangerous. Most reptiles in Jacques' novels are sneaky and cannibalistic._


	24. Chapter 23

It came as no surprise to anybeast in the abbey that the announcement of Fwirl and Broggle's new arrival was quickly followed by Mhera's decision to host a celebration of grandiose proportions. The shrews, who were already a good deal rounder after a single meal in Redwall, sat back in dumbfounded awe at the realization that they hadn't yet experienced a true abbey feast. However, within moments the Guosim were already chattering animatedly with ideas about what sorts of foods they could help prepare… which of course led to more than a few quarrels and miniature brawls around Cavern Hole. The dibbuns seemed to consider the violent displays to be the best sort of entertainment, and they clapped and squealed whenever a pair of shrews toppled out of their chairs and went rolling across the sandstone floor. Churrkin the molemaid waved brightly across the room at Picquancy from where she sat in Friar Bobb's arms. Nobeast could tell if the poor squirrel's ill appearance had come from learning about the two visiting hares, hearing about the new feast, or realizing that his kitchens would be filled to the brim with brawling shrews trying to contribute recipes of their own.

In fact, the head cook was not the only creature in Cavern Hole with a long face. Boorab, lingering in the corner beside his haredee-gurdee, let out a soft sigh and plopped down on an empty chair just after the two shrews sitting in it tumbled to the ground in a disagreement. Despite his excitement, young Broggle caught the lanky hare's drawn face and made his way through the hoard, receiving congratulations all the way. "Why so down, pal?" he finally asked as he reached the edge of the room. Though his old stammer had resurfaced briefly in his excitement, it was gone now; and he had the long-eared Baggscutt before him to thank for it.

"Oh, nothing to bush your fluffy tale over, me ol' chum," Boorab murmured, and he patted the assistant cook's paw fondly. "I'm sure t'will be a grand feast the like of which this abbey has never seen!"

"…but you… can't have any of it," Broggle finished for him. "Can you? Oh, Boorab. I didn't even think about that."

"Now, now, don't you let those whiskers droop for a moment on my account, laddie buck," the abbey entertainer barked. He leapt to his footpaws and pounded his chest heroically. "It's me own doing, first and foremost — besides, all these shrew types and their new-fangled recipes gives me an idea!" The harlequinned hare slipped through the crowd to Mhera's side and made an elegant leg; even going so far as to remove his jingling hat. "Do beg pardon, Mother Abbess, but I've just had a smidge of inspiration, don'cha know. What with all these visitors staying at the abbey, we'll be hard-pressed to come up with new recipes and whatnot… Now just say the word and I'll shut me bally trap, of course, but if I may be so bold as to submit meself as assistant to the good friar's assistant Broggle — that is, _tertian_ friar, you might say — and before you utter a syllable let me put your mind at ease by assuring you that my work will be entirely un-culinary in fashion, and that my diet will not at all change, but that I might actually be able to do a good spot of inventing for our dear over-burdened squirrel chefs; and you've me solemn oath as a Baggscutt that I won't so much as lick a bloomin' spoon, and I may actually find some very creative ways to cook cabbage if given enough time, an—"

"Oh, Boorab, do stop to take a breath; you've convinced me," Mhera laughed gently at the prostrate hare before her. "You've kept your word so very well on your probation already, you're welcome to try and cook your cabbage any way you like. And I know Friar Bobb will be more than glad for the help."

"Aye, and— and I'll vouch for him, Mother Abbess," Broggle added, throwing a paw around the hair's shoulders. "He'll be a splendid assistant, just you wait and see! Why I'll bet he has more recipe ideas than all these Guosim put together!"

"Oy, but don't let them little fings hear you say it," Ricky murmured to the father-to-be out of the side of his mouth.

"Don't mean to be a bit slow on the uptake, chums, but what's all this about cabbage and probation?" Mondeferd piped in with a single-eyed squint at Boorab.

The abbey entertainer practically wilted under his stare. "Er, w-well, that is to say, sah—"

"Well, Boorab has been adhering to a strict diet," Mhera explained to their guest graciously. "Partially for his health, you see. He's already grown far stronger and leaner, wouldn't you agree?"

Mondy glanced over his fellow hare and harrumphed noncommittally. "Wouldn't know, marm. Quite a feat of self-control, if you ask me—"

"Lucky cad," a thin voice sniffed from the doorway. The company turned to see Picquancy leaning against the frame with her arms crossed; eyeing the dibbuns that were doddering across the floor as if she expected vermin to burst through the windows and snatch the babes up at any moment. "If your worst trouble with scoff is having too much of it, you've not much trouble at all, says I."

Boorab's cheeks flushed scarlet, but Ricky glanced over the scruffy haremaid and let loose with one of his usual crooked grins. "Bet'cher just jealous he gets to work in the kitchens and you don't, Miz…?"

"Picquancy," Mondy finally muttered after the she-hare did nothing but glare daggers at the swaggering Nevarr.

"Now I say, ol' bean," Boorab finally cut in as he regained his courage. "Aren't you pronouncing that wrong? Should be ' _piq-_ uancy,' with the first syllable in the lead."

The she-hare sniffed airily back at him. "No it jolly well isn't, sah! It's Pic- _quan-_ cy. Rhymes with chancey. And if I ever hear you saying otherwise, I'll knock your bally block off!"

"Chancey?" one of the troublesome Guosim piped up from near the wall in-between spats with his kin. "Really, is that the best rhyme you can come up with?"

Before Picquancy could turn to bare her teeth at the speaker and raise her fists in a challenge to him, Nimbalo gave a bark of laughter and made an elegant leg.

"Oh once there was a perilous hare  
A warrior and lady fair  
Who kept a hammer on her belt  
and favored nothing fancy;

But woe to ye who cross the maid,  
For lest you be an abbey babe,  
You'll rue the day you mispronounced  
the name of Miss Picquancy!"

The rhyme sent the dibbuns rolling across the floor in reels of laughter. Their high-pitched squealing seemed to amuse Picquancy enough that the cheeky shrew appeared to be out of danger.

"Oy, Broggle," Friar Bobb hollered as he made his way through the crowd of chattering beasts towards the kitchens. "We'd best get to work — the two of us will practically be _living_ in the kitchens until that fancy snake gets its nose boxed good'n proper…"

"And I daresay keeping that busy will be good for Broggle," Mhera murmured to her friends as the jumpy father-to-be scrambled after the friar. "He'd probably be wringing his paws furless otherwise. Fwirl must have at least half a season yet before the babe arrives." She sighed wearily and clapped a paw to her forehead. "Can you just imagine? All these goodbeasts could be staying with us for just that long — or longer, depending on when Deyna returns! There's so much to do. I might have to find an assistant myself!"

"You sure could use one an' no mistake," Ricky barked in laughter. "Oy might have just the beast for ya."

Mhera glanced up at him, surprised at how quickly he must have sized up every creature in the room. "Do you really, Rick? How did you decide?"

"Easy enough," the sea otter chuckled as he looked over the crowd. "Oy happen to know anothah rivvah-dog waiting for family to come back… Just as worried as you, though he don't show it. Oy got a feelin' once he arranges shifts fa' the sentries, he'll be stuck with an ovah-grown sword and nothin' to do but 'wring his paws furless,' as you said. Think you could use a beast loike that?"

Mhera shook her head in disbelief and beamed back at Ricky. "Why of course I could. Truthfully, I may have you so busy that _you'll_ need an assistant before long."

"I say — bit of truth to that idea, wot," Boorab mused. "Having an assistant to an assistant and so on. Our friars may need an extra set of muscle keeping those shrew fellows out of the kitchens…" He sent a sweeping bow in Picquancy's direction. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in dabbling in the culinary arts, madame? You'd be the assistant to the second assistant to the friar. Or quadrant cook, if you prefer—"

But at that moment, Churrkin had arrived with several of her dibbun friends in tow, and was explaining to them exactly how the brass hoop had become forever stuck in the hare maiden's snout. Abbey babes as well as Guosim and Dillypin young ones trundled around Picquancy in awe as she allowed them each to take experimental tugs on the ring; she could even lift some of the smaller shrews off their footpaws entirely. She paused briefly only to shake her head at Boorab's offer, but she did so with a surprisingly bright smile before allowing the dibbuns to drag her away down the corridor.

Boorab's ears quivered and he waved bashfully back, with the image of her smile still twinkling before his eyes… until Mondeferd sent one of his knobby elbows straight into the entertainer's stomach. "Eyes front, sah! Keep ogling my ward like that and I'll smack your conk so hard that you'll be cross-eyed for the rest of y'life!"


	25. Chapter 24

Despite the fact that they were still recovering from the recent scare in the marshy inlet, the Nevarrs picked themselves up admirably and prepared the vessel for its next obstacle with practiced ease. Deyna helped them lift a portion of the deck in the ketch's center, and there Tikky drew out a long mast and hinged crossbeam that had been stowed straight down the middle of the keel. There was barely time to admire the strange collapsible design before it was lifted and locked into place, though the boom was kept upright and strapped to the mizzen. Grip leaned on the tiller and suspiciously eyed the canvas that was tied tight to the fastened crossbeam. "Surely you don't expect a sail to do us any good over the rapids, do ya?"

Tikky deftly tossed him a line before tying one around his own waist as a precaution, in case any of them was tossed overboard by the rocks or white water. "O'course not. But the mast will help us balance." The shrew's expression did not exhibit any sign of agreement. His muscles tensed as the brawny Nevarr approached and sat on the other side of the tiller readily. "Oy'll steer us."

"Oh, no you don't, you great daft sea-dog," Grip snapped with his paws wrapped firmly around the handle. " _I'll_ steer us, thank'e very much!"

Deyna ignored their bickering and yanking of the tiller back and forth, which he had gotten quite used to, and glanced up instead to where his only remaining companion was standing upright beside the mast. "Shouldn't you be sitting down for this, Tumbol?"

The she-otter gave him a brief glance before she went back to eyeing the bend in the waterway up ahead. She bared her fangs eagerly into what he realized was supposed to be a grin, but it looked rather frightening thanks to the scar that kept the left side of her mouth stretched into perpetual grimace. "No, mite. _You_ should be standin' _up_." She reached out and helped him rise to his footpaws, then patted the mast. "Hang on to this, and lean where-evvah you want the ketch to go."

Deyna mimicked her stance and took hold of the mizzen, but as the vessel rounded the turn in the broadstream, he grew less and less confident in his friend's strange advice. Up ahead, several glistening moss-covered boulders jutted out of the water and marked the beginning of a downhill slope. The speeding current smashed into the rocks and split around them in cascades of wild foamy spray, and then tumbled headlong into a maze of more waves and white-water rapids that danced and leapt over networks of jutting stones. The Taggerung planted his legs and tried to get a firm footing on the wooden deck. A glance over his shoulder told him that Tikky and Grip had grudgingly agreed to steer the vessel together — though they still shot playful elbows into one another's ribs as the ketch drifted swiftly towards the rushing torrents. The roar of the deluge was nearly deafening. Deyna's ears fell flat upon his head as the prow came towards the edge. Closer, and closer, and closer… and then they shot out past it. For one horrible moment their vessel was suspended over the downpour, with its stern still in the river while the bow hung suspended in mid-air! Then it dropped.

Though his claws were wrapped around the mast and his footpaws hadn't left the deck, the Redwall warrior felt his stomach fly into his mouth as they fell downwards and forwards. "SPLASH!" Their keel hit the raging flood, and they shot forward through a cloud of frigid misty droplets. The landing would have been jarring for Tumbol and Deyna if they hadn't been bracing their legs for it, but Grip and Tikky — who had very nearly flown from their seats in the stern — both winced when their backsides smacked down hard on the wooden benches. However, there wasn't any time for them to cry out in pain; a massive boulder was already planted squarely in their path. The shrew and the sea otter had spotted it just before the ketch was launched over the edge of the rapids, so they were both already heaving the tiller hard to port when the prow first sliced into the icy current upon landing. The vessel had barely bobbed back up from the initial impact when the rudder's guidance swung it hard past the right side of the glistening stone. Then they tipped forwards and dove down the next gap in the rapids.

Tikky and Grip pumped the tiller back and forth furiously, veering the boat side to side in a frenzy as it pitched up and down along the sloping river; fortunately, the raging waters were slipping along the same path with practiced ease, and they seemed to guide the _Lily_ on its course almost as much as the rudder itself. For the first few dives that the ketch took, Deyna could barely do more than clutch at the mizzen and wince at every jarring leap that the vessel made. He had to squint as the prow kicked up splash after splash of freezing droplets into his face, soaking through his clothes and fur until his claws started to grow numb. Then, to his surprise, he heard a wild howl of delight.

Beside him, Tumbol was leaning out over the starboard gunwale with only her grip on the mast keeping her from falling backwards into the frigid tumult. Whenever the _Lily_ shot out past a ledge and dipped forward, she would lean back and pull on the mizzen as if trying to will the vessel into landing on its keel. Whenever they came dangerously close to a boulder or even scraped it with the edge of the hull, she would hang off a line in the opposite direction as if to guide the ship away from danger. Her wild mood was contagious, too. After shaking off a wave of mist that hit his face, Grip whooped and bared his teeth in defiance of the wild river. Tikky's work with the tiller grew smoother as he planted his footpaws beneath the bench and started to lean with the vessel's movements.

As the ketch bucked and veered about, Deyna started to glimpse their pathway through the waters and anticipated the winding bends as they approached. He felt the mast sway like it had a life of its own, and as they came up on a sharp port turn, he wrapped his paws more firmly around it and heaved. He felt Tumbol's weight and his own sway the vessel, if only minutely, and they sliced past the nearest stone like a shooting arrow. The ketch tossed up and down as it constantly dove from one patch of rapids to the next, and the passengers were soon bracing themselves with ease and letting their paws absorb each impact while their bodies reeled and undulated with momentum. The wind rushed through their ears and the current heaved them along faster and faster. Waves of icy spray were strewn across the bows and formed puddles on the deck, which then got washed out of the lurching boat almost as soon as they were formed. Just as the river ahead seemed to finally grow smooth again, they careened down a patch of falling water so fast that the ketch actually slid straight off the next ledge and into the air. The group of friends all leaned back hard, their eyes wide and mouths bellowing with a mixture of anxiety and delight, before the hull split the waves below and they landed with a resounding "FOOM!" that sent a wall of white foam scattering in all directions.

Deyna let his mouth hang open as his chest heaved and he gasped for air as desperately as if he had been holding his breath — though he had been whooping and cheering along with the others just moments earlier. Tumbol tentatively detached herself from the mast with shaking claws, but shot him a broad grin. "Glad ya stood?"

The Redwall warrior chuckled. He was still giddy with exhilaration, and he was not the only one. Grip trembled by the tiller and flopped down onto his back with a laugh. "That was some o'the wildest water I've ever been on!"

"Oy, an' me rump won't forget it for a long time," Tikky moaned as he rubbed his sore backside, which had hit his wooden seat countless times as the vessel had pitched and bounced down the rapids.

Tumbol shook herself wildly and sent a shower of droplets on them all, then started to twist gobs of water from her loose shirt and the sash around her waist. "Sure worked up an appetite. Did the fish make it?"

Grip held up the soaking meal on the spit, which he had placed under a section of the gunwale to keep it dry. However, his plans had not seemed to expect the wild waves to wash into the ketch and drench every inch of it. "Well, mates, it's back to being a proper fish now: cold and wet and everything."

Deyna laughed raucously. He and his friends dried off as best they could, and then hung their dripping clothes on the crossbeam that Tikky unlocked from the rest of the mast. A chilling breeze off the broadstream rustled their fur and made them shiver at first, but soon the steady glow of the spring sun had warmed them all down to the bones. Without any land to stretch their legs upon, their dinner was a less-grand affair than they had planned. The cold fish was passed around and nibbled on, and some oat farls with dandelion and rosehip cordial were also unpacked from the Nevarr's special sailing bags: Grip was delighted to see that the strange tanned sacking had actually kept most of the supplies completely dry. He kept remarking upon how the Guosim ought to have packaging like it, and didn't stop for a long time until his gaze caught something far away to the north. He squinted, then stood up. "Talk about travelin' fast; we're nearly to the sea already. That distant peak is Salamandastron."

Deyna sat up rigid and strained eagerly to see the famed mountain of legend. Though the river was low and the horizon was blocked by many hills and marshlands, a solitary grey peak loomed over the land like a sleeping giant. The sheer size of it took his breath away. "Fine place," Tikky murmured. "Shame we'll sail right past it wi'vvout a visit. Oy'm sure Lord Russano would wanna hear about the Kobarra."

"He'd send the Long Patrol out, you know 'e would," Tumbol reminded him. "Who knows how many hares would go to their deaths."

"Even so, I do wish it was to the south of us instead of to the north, so that we could visit along our journey," Deyna sighed as he looked on. "I've heard so many grand stories about that place."

"We'll be passin' plenty o'places by," Tikky reminded him. "South at breakneck speed… why, Tumbol an' Oy can't even stop by home."

Deyna glanced at them in surprise. "We'll be sailing by your home?"

Tumbol nodded. "Aftah we hit the sea and sail south for two days, nearabouts. But even then, it's four days journey inland, on footpaws. Too fah off-course."

"We can still stop at the Thundah-Holt, though," Tikky added brightly. " _That's_ as straight south as you please!"

Grip scratched his head in surprise. "I didn't realize the two of you lived so close. I'd have thought from yer accents that you're from much further away."

The two Nevarrs cackled together as if at some secret joke. Tumbol tried to bat her eyelashes and make a prim sort of face, pursing her lips and speaking in a nearly-flawless warbling voice that was devoid of her usual broad slang. "Tis the fault of our father dearest, I'm afraid," she cooed, making an effort to sound nearly as posh as a hare. "We adopted his dialect when we were no more than young whippersnappers, don'cha know. And of course he took us to the Thunder-Holt so often during our youth that most of us are really incurable now, eh, wot!"

"To be sure, an' our poor, beloved mother tried to raise such good beasts, she did," Tikky sighed with the trilling of a water vole. "But she wound up with wretched heathens instead!" The two siblings guffawed at one another again. Then Tikky sat up straighter and tapped his claws upon the gunwale, passing a wink to his sister. The two began warbling together, with the mellow accent of mice and hedgehogs that came from the southern woodlands. Before long Deyna and Grip were laughing at the comical ditty, especially because the Nevarrs somehow managed to play both characters at once; their voices fluctuated flawlessly, sometimes singing in a deep steady baritone, and then in high warbling soprano.

"Oh once there was a gentle fish  
A cook by trade, a cook by trade  
He could make any tasty dish  
And each was a feast worth havin'

He met a lovely lady friend  
A warrior maid, a warrior maid  
Whose appetite did have no end  
Who wielded staves and a javelin

She said to him, 'We cannot wed.  
'Oh go away, oh go away!  
'A drop of blood you've never shed  
'To halt a foebeast's advances!'

He cried to her, 'It matters not.  
'I beg you stay, I beg you stay.'  
She left, but he was not forgot  
And still received furtive glances

Then lo, behold, a pike came down  
To dine that night, to dine that night  
He swaggered straight into the town  
To have the cook for his dinner!

But then between them stood the maid  
Her eyes alight, her eyes alight  
She came to her beloved's aid  
And soon emerged as the winner!

She told the cook, 'I'm greatly starved,  
'Please cook for me, do cook for me.'  
And soon the pike was roast and carved,  
A testament to her courage

And now they're off to quite a start  
As you can see, as you can see  
For he's in love with her brave heart,  
And she's in love with his porridge!"

The jovial bouncing tune had kept smiles on everyone's faces throughout its duration, and so when they reached the end of it, the friends all fell about laughing and clapping their paws at the silly tale. At Grip's urging, the Nevarrs sang it again two times over, and he learned the whole of it very quickly. "Ah, just wait until the rest of the Guosim hear that one," the little shrew chuckled as he leaned against the bulwark. "We only have so many songs and poems amongst us, you know. 'Tis a grand old thing to hear something new!"

"Aye, wherever did it come from?" Deyna added. It was his turn at the rudder, and he was savoring the feel of the wooden handle as it strained to and fro from the current, but still guided the ship under his firm direction. He winked at Tumbol playfully. "You actually sounded like a civilized beast for a moment!" She chuckled wryly and kicked at his tail, which was the closest she could get without having to move from her spot beneath the shade of the sail and crossbeam.

"It's an old rhyme from the lower edges o' Southsward," Tikky sighed as he lounged with his paws stretched up behind his head. "That's where we grew up. Papa Migg found a lake halfway twixt his home and Ma's. Beautiful place, that… but too fah to visit if we're in a rush."

"And in a rush we are, I'm afraid," Deyna admitted, though he felt sorry for the siblings to pass so close to their childhood stomping grounds without halting. He wondered how many other wondrous lands and mysterious isles would go untouched on their journey. If Martin hadn't warned him to travel quickly, a part of him would have been perfectly content to explore the furthest reaches beyond the map; an undertaking that could easily take up ten lifetimes. But now, wherever he went, he felt a silver thread gently tugging his heart back northwards. More than a compass, more than a rudder. If Redwall was in trouble, then there would be no detours.


End file.
